Timing
by Padria95
Summary: He was just supposed to be shopping for a gift, so how did he end up trapped in a store with eight hostile gunmen, fifteen terrified hostages, one stoic young girl, and no back-up? Because he obviously has terrible timing… then again, right now he's the only one who can get the hostages out alive… but at what personal cost?
1. Flashforward

**A.N.** I do not own Flashpoint, nor do I profit from the characters. I merely use them for my own enjoyment. There will be mild to medium swearing throughout.

* * *

His earnest blue eyes held her gaze. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise."

Her whispered "Okay" was barely audible.

"Now up you go." He lifted her as high onto the shelves as he could. The moment he was no longer supporting her, she felt panic rising. She forced it down viciously. Her hero was counting on her. He couldn't be watching out for her while stopping these men. She reached the very highest shelf more than twenty feet in the air, and, to her dismay, found that the boxes took up too much room; she couldn't fit behind them. Refusing to give up she continued until she was on the very top of the shelves instead, and lay down flat. She trembled, feeling very exposed and wishing he was there to give her a comforting embrace. Steeling herself, she rolled over onto her stomach to look down at the man who had saved her life today more times than she could count, and who was about to risk his life to save countless more. She gave him a thumbs up, which he returned along with a brilliant, warm smile of encouragement, then she watched him silently move down the aisle and out of her sight. She prayed that would not be the last time she saw him. As she rolled over onto her back again, away from the edge, something caught her eye. Where she had been lying on her stomach moments ago the white shelves were stained red. With blood. She glanced down at her red shirt and sure enough, there were blotches that were darker. Closing her eyes and remembering hugging the man in her moment of fear, she dropped her head back onto the shelves and, for the first time in her twelve year old life, she used a swear word. "Dammit, Sam!"


	2. Chapter 1

**A.N.** As always, I do not own Flashpoint (sigh), nor do I profit from writing about it.

 **Update 5/23/2017:** I went through this entire story in an effort to clean it up a little bit and also to fix some plot holes. Hopefully it reads a little more easily now!

.

.

.

.

* * *

Two hours earlier...

"You are lost," an authoritative voice informed Constable Sam Braddock from out of sight somewhere off to his left.

Frowning, he turned towards the voice prepared to tell her off and inform her that, no, he was _not,_ but words failed him when his gaze fell upon the speaker. A young girl stood before him, stretching proudly up to her full height of four feet. Black slacks adorned her slim legs and her arms were crossed over a red polo shirt with a name tag on it that informed Sam her name was Bethany. Blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, away from her angular, elfin face. One of her eyebrows was raised and her lips were pursed, challenging him to deny her accusation. In Sam's humble opinion, she was rather adorable (though he would never say that aloud to anyone) and her youth contrasted starkly with her professional clothes.

Looking back to the shelves he'd been regarding prior to Bethany's interruption, his eyes were met with row upon row of pink boxed Barbie Dolls and he grimaced. "Yes," he sighed, "I am."

She nodded at his confirmation. "Let me guess. Niece's birthday?"

Sam smiled. "Close. One of my friend's daughter's."

Bethany nodded again, quickly pulling out a small notepad and pen from her pocket. "Age?"

"8."

"Siblings?"

"Two older sisters."

"Interests?"

"Horses, drawing, and fashion."

His self-assigned helper quickly scribbled these facts on her notepad. Sticking the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, she frowned. Looking up at the shelves he had been considering prior to her timely interruption, she smiled. "Yup, you're definitely in the wrong place!" She turned abruptly and began walking down the aisle, calling over her shoulder, "This way! I think we can find a more appropriate gift!"

With one last glance at the rows of smiling plastic faces, he followed the girl down the aisle, hoping she would be able to keep him in Wordy's daughter's good graces.

As he followed the petite employee through the store, he began to wonder if she was indeed an employee, or if this was some elaborate prank… If she was, wouldn't that be considered child labor? She couldn't be more than 12. He cleared his throat. "Um, so you work here?"

She nodded (Sam was beginning to think this was her go to response as he had only been in her presence a few minutes and she had already done it, what… three times? Four?). "Yes sir, going on 2 years."

"My name's Sam, not 'sir,'" he automatically corrected her. She looked at him like she didn't quite believe him, but kept walking. Sam glanced at her surreptitiously out of the corner of his eyes. "And you're how old?"

She halted immediately, turning to face him and placing her hands on her hips. "Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to ask a woman her age?"

Taking a step back from her intimidating stare, he replied uncertainly, "Can't say that she did…"

He was met with silence. One of her eyebrows quirked upwards, clearly indicating that he should explain himself, so he decided to be honest. "Unless I am completely misjudging your age—and if that's the case, then I am sincerely sorry—I am concerned that you might be being taken advantage of."

Again he was met with silence and he began to worry that he had offended her yet again, before her face broke into a huge grin. "You are most thoughtful, sir, but I can assure you that I am not being taken advantage of." She resumed walking, with Sam hurrying to follow. "My parents own the store and I help out when I can." She glanced at him and, seeing that he was about to protest, she smiled again. "Don't worry, it's not child labor. I do it of my own volition because I'm learning valuable skills; when I grow up I want to take over running the business, so this is great practice! Tulio just started today, but he's going to be the manager when he grows up, not the boss. I refuse to let my little brother overtake me."

She stopped as they had reached the aisle she had been searching for. Her demeanor immediately changed, switching from open and friendly to professional. She pointed to the shelves. "I would recommend art supplies of some sort. Given that she is 8, she's probably old enough to have enough patience and attention span for more than simple coloring books." She pulled a specific set of paints off the shelf and handed them to Sam. "These are high quality and easy to work with—essential for someone just starting out—and extremely reasonably priced." As she turned back to the shelves to grab something else, Sam couldn't help but grin at her sales-ship. She grabbed two books and handed them to him as well. "I would also recommend these two; one is an instruction manual with very eye catching designs, sure to draw in any 8 year old, and the other is a book with pre-made designs that are more complicated than your average coloring book, but not too difficult to be daunting. They are also horse focused." She pulled one last item off of the shelves and balanced it precariously in Sam's already full hands. "And this is a blank sketchbook for when her artistic talents really take off and she wants to craft her own ideas." She stepped back and looked at him expectantly.

He glanced down at the items in his hands. He honestly had no clue whether Wordy's daughter would like these things, but Bethany seemed confident and sold her points convincingly enough that he decided to defer to her judgement… plus the designs were indeed eye catching. He met her eyes. "You are amazingly good."

She grinned and, for the first time since he'd met her just six minutes before, became shy. She blushed and looked down at her feet. "Thank you, sir. I try." She looked up at him again, hopefully. "Does this mean you are satisfied with your customer service?"

Carefully maneuvering the items in his arms to free up his right hand, he held it out to her and gave her a firm, friendly handshake. "It's Sam, remember? And I am more than satisfied with my service. In fact, do you have a customer feedback form I could fill out on your behalf, Ms. Bethany?"

Shaking his hand enthusiastically, she nodded, her eyes lighting up. "Yes sir! I mean—Sam. Are you sure I should call you Sam?" She eyed him dubiously. "My parents tell me I'm supposed to be respectful to adults."

It was his turn to nod. "I'm sure. It's not rude to call a person by his first name if that's what he wants."

She dropped her hand from his and reached into her pocket, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper. She gave it to him, along with one of her two pens. "You can fill that out and hand it to the cashier when you check out."

He tucked the paper and pen into his pocket so that he could resume holding the various art supplies with both hands. "Thank you Ms. Bethan—"

"Libby," she interrupted him. "I'm Libby to my friends."

Sam smiled. "Libby, thank you for your time and help. As you noted earlier, I would have been lost without you." He turned and began to walk towards the end of the aisle... That was when the first shots were fired.

* * *

.

.

.

.

 **A.N.** I'm back! Took me a long time to come up with this plot, and then even longer to actually get it down on paper (writer's block is a killer!), but it's finally to a point where I feel comfortable starting to post some chapters. Sorry it's so short to start and that not a lot has happened so far, but more to come! Interested? I have most of this story blocked out, but I'm open to ideas and suggestions. This story is definitely Sam focused, with a lot of Ed, too. Like with my other story, I focus on their friendship. As this is me we're talking about, there will definitely be some good old heroics and hurt in upcoming chapters! Also, I do not recall Wordy's daughter's interests or ages being mentioned much, so I have created them as needed. If I have erred, please drop me a message and I will adjust.

Hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 2

**A.N.** I never thought that explaining where things were happening in the store would be one of the most difficult parts of writing this story... I hope I was successful in making things understandable, but for the sake of clarity, aisle will mean the actual space between the shelves of products, and row will mean the wider space that one walks down to get from aisle to aisle, typically running from the front of the store to the back. The mall, the store, the location, all of these are fictional. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed this story! Missblueeyes63, venetiaj and three guests: you people are awesome :)

As always, I do not own Flashpoint, nor do I profit from writing about these amazing characters.

.

.

.

.

* * *

For a heartbeat, Sam's body froze as his mind raced to process the information it was receiving. Someone was firing an automatic weapon at the front of the store. Scratch that, at least _three_ people were firing automatic weapons at the front of the store; he could hear three distinct guns. People were screaming, likely trying to flee the gunmen, and Sam was practically in the middle of the store, far from any of the emergency exits. He was unarmed and completely unprepared.

The heartbeat ended and he leaped into action. Prepared or not, he wasn't going just to stand there and let Libby get shot. In an instant, he dropped the art supplies without hesitation and whirled around, racing back towards Libby who was still standing in the middle of the aisle, frozen, a look of stunned confusion on her face. He seized her hand, dragging her along behind him to the end of the aisle and cautiously peered around the edge of the shelves. He could not see the front of the store directly, but he could see people scrambling to try and find hiding spots, some even running towards the gunfire in a desperate attempt to get out the front doors of the store. Sam grimaced, guessing they would not be met with success; there was only once entrance to the store—as it was in a mall sandwiched between two other stores—and he was sure that the gunmen were covering it.

He ducked back into the aisle, desperately searching for a place that Libby could disappear. Unfortunately, they were only surrounded by the shelves filled with art supplies, which did not offer good cover or niches to hide in. He could hear controlled footsteps approaching their aisle from the opposite end and knew he was almost out of time; those were not the footsteps of a panicked customer. He quickly checked to see if the row he'd just been looking down was still clear and, when he saw that it was, pushed Libby out into it and to the side, such that the shelves were blocking her from view from the other end of the aisle. Before he could join her, a voice shouted from behind him, "Hey! You! Don't move!"

Dutifully, Sam froze. His eyes met Libby's and he tried his best to convey that he wanted her to stay where she was. She seemed to understand, as she slowly nodded. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he took a deep breath and turned to face the gunman.

"I said DON'T MOVE! Put your hands in the air!"

Slowly, Sam raised his hands, all the while assessing the other man. He was standing at the opposite end of the aisle, a white goalie's mask on his face and a semi-automatic handgun pointed directly at Sam. A part of Sam noted that it was curious the man was not carrying one of the automatics he had heard earlier, but he pushed that information away as it was not immediately relevant. Eyeballing the distance, Sam would say that the aisle was approximately a hundred feet long; if the other man was any good with the gun, he could most likely hit Sam without a problem. But Sam was only a foot away from the edge of the aisle and thus from being out of the gunman's line of sight. Could he make it? He'd have to. He couldn't leave Libby to fend for herself.

"Now walk towards me slowly! And if you try anything…" The man left his threat unsaid.

Stalling for time, Sam shifted his stance in preparation to move, before calling out, "Why are you doing this?"

The other man snorted, "Like I'd tell you! Now start movin—hey!"

Sam lunged around the corner just as he heard the gun discharge. He felt a searing pain along his side before the merchandise on the end of the aisle behind where he'd been standing moments ago exploded. Wordlessly, he shoved Libby down the next aisle, before turning around and waiting. He was hoping that the noise and confusion still coming from the storefront and the gunman's own pounding steps would mask the fact that his quarry wasn't fleeing. As the man's footsteps slowed in preparation for the turn, Sam stepped out of the aisle and directly into the gunman's path. He was counting on the fact that the man was probably not expecting an assault. Sure enough, the man cleared the corner, saw Sam standing there, and desperately tried to stop and bring his gun up to fire. He was too late. Sam stepped forward, snapped out his hands and seized the man's arm that held the gun, using the man's own momentum to flip him over his shoulder, all the while maintaining a grip on the man's arm. The man landed hard on his back with an "oof!" and Sam expertly twisted his arm, forcing him to release the gun. As it clattered to the floor Sam dropped down and struck the man's temple with his elbow, knocking him out cold.

He grabbed the discarded gun, quickly checking the magazine and chamber: six bullets. Not great, but better than nothing. Finally, he looked up towards Libby, fully expecting to see a shell-shocked child, but instead he was met with a surprisingly calm, calculating look. "You a cop?" she asked.

He stood, dragging the man into the aisle. "SRU, actually," he replied. "Duct tape. We need duct tape. Is there some anywhere close by?"

She looked around, quickly orienting herself, then nodded. "I'll be right back," she murmured, before taking off.

"No, wait!" Sam hissed desperately, but she was gone. He could hear things beginning to settle down towards the front of the store and knew any minute someone else would be coming to either check on their companion or look for more potential hostages. While waiting for Libby to return he quickly stripped the man of the rest of his gear, which consisted of a small knife, a burner phone and a set of handcuffs. He put the knife and phone in his pockets and handcuffed the man's left hand to his right foot behind his back, pocketing the key.

He heard quiet footsteps behind him, footsteps that were much too soft for a full grown man; Libby reappeared with three rolls of duct tape. She handed them to him, stating solemnly, "Given the circumstances, I don't think my parents will mind."

Sam couldn't help but smile. He swiftly taped the man's mouth shut, then taped his remaining free hand and foot to the already handcuffed ones, effectively hog-tying him. "Okay Libby," he whispered, "we need a place to stash this guy, hopefully somewhere he won't be found quickly. While we're at it, _we_ could use a place to hide."

She thought for a moment. "Three aisles over we have an enclosed play house. We could stash him in there… I don't know how long he'd remain hidden, but we don't have a lot of other places that would fit a full grown man."

Sam nodded his understanding and picked the man up, slinging him over his shoulder. The resulting stab of pain that the motion caused to his side surprised him. He vaguely remembered the sting as the man had fired and realized he must not have been able to get out of the way in time. Recalling the explosion of products behind him, he was relieved to know that at the very least the bullet was not still inside him, but he'd have to assess the situation as soon as he could. In the meantime, adrenaline was a wonderful thing; he barely felt the injury.

Putting that issue out of his mind for the moment he followed Libby, pulling the phone from his pocket, and dialing a number he knew by heart. The phone rang… and rang… and rang… "Dammit, pick up the phone!" he muttered vehemently. They arrived at the play house while the phone was still ringing. Sam was fairly surprised that they had not encountered any of the other gunmen, but suspected they must have only sent one man to clear the rest of the store and the others had remained up front and were still trying to settle the chaos.

Libby opened the door for him and he managed to wiggle his way inside, unceremoniously dropping the man on the floor. The phone had gone to voicemail. He swore again, drawing a wide-eyed stare from Libby. He gave her an apologetic look before issuing instructions. "Tape him down to the floor so he can't move. Across his head, shoulders… everywhere," he murmured, before turning his attention back to the phone. "Ed, it's Sam. I've got a situation here." While he was talking and Libby was preoccupied with her task of mummifying the gunman, he quietly glanced down at his side and prodded the area where the bullet had hit. "I'm at the North End Mall in The Oakes which has been taken by gunmen. I don't know how many there are, but from what I heard they're packing a lot of heat." He suppressed a hiss of pain as he touched a particularly tender area. He was relieved to determine that it was just a crease and that the bullet had not done more damage. It was still bleeding and hurt enough to cause annoyance, but it wasn't life threatening. Assessment complete, he focused his mind on the more urgent matter at hand. "I've taken one down, but I don't know how long he'll stay that way." He turned to Libby who was still busy taping. "How many employees are working today? How many customers do you typically have on a weekday at this hour?"

Her eyes closed and her mouth moved silently as she clearly tried to recall from her memory. Again, Sam was struck by how calm and collected she had remained thus far. "Five. Five employees," she replied, "and maybe ten or fifteen customers?"

Sam closed his eyes. That was a lot of hostages if none had managed to escape. "I believe they have fifteen or twenty hostages. There were five employees working this morning, but I don't know if anyone managed to make it out. This number is a burner I took off of one of the men. You can call it to reach me but I'm going to have to put it on silent. I may not pick up." He didn't bother to mention that he'd stupidly left his own phone in his bike bag outside. He once again turned to confer with Libby. "Do you have a lot of money in the registers at this time of day? Any special shipments of valuables coming in or something?" A beep sounded in his ear. He pulled the phone away from his ear and saw the battery was flashing. He groaned internally. What kind of thief brought a nearly dead phone to a gunfight?

Unaware of the issue, Libby responded by shaking her head 'no.' She could think of no monetary reason these men would target her store. Her parents were doing well, but they certainly weren't rolling in riches. She chose not to share with Sam that she could think of a non-money related reason these men would attack her store. She liked the SRU officer and he had probably just saved her life, but she wasn't yet ready to be completely honest with him. Secrecy had been drilled into her for far too long.

Sam once again spoke into the phone. "At this time we do not know their motive. Money doesn't seem to be their objecti—" he broke off as they heard footsteps approaching. Thankfully Libby had completed her job and the man Sam had taken down could now pass for a prop in a haunted house.

"Hey!" a man's voice yelled from out in the aisle. "Man! You cleared the rest of the store? What's taking you so long? Get back here! Boss is waiting!" The voice moved on.

"I have to go," Sam whispered. "I'll send a photo of the one man, see if you can identify him." He hung up and snapped a photograph of the man with his mask off, quickly sending it on to Ed. The message finished sending just as the phone died. _Well,_ he thought, _at least I have that going for me_. "Libby," he breathed, but she cut him off.

"Sam, we need to get Tulio," she told him firmly but just as quietly.

"What? Who?"

"Tulio. My six year old brother. Today was—"

"—Was his first day. I remember." Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know, Libby. He's probably up front with everyone else."

She shook her head, a stark contrast to her usual nod. "No, he was in the office, cleaning. He would have hidden when the gunshots started."

"They probably checked the office already…" He hated to crush her hopes, but they had to be realistic.

"The office, yes, but not the ventilation shaft attached to it. It's Tulio's special spot. It's tiny, too small for an adult so they wouldn't think to check it."

Sam stared her straight in the eyes, measuring how committed she was to this idea. He was met with resolute determination. Letting out a sigh, he consented. "Okay. Where's the office?"


	4. Chapter 3

**A.N.** Warning: long author's note ahead.

First of all thank you to everyone who has followed and/or favorited! You guys are awesome. Special shout out to Buckeye am I, 2 Guests, Missblueeyes63, Sewtunes, FeelsOverloaded, and Roseiibabii!

Apologies for the delay in updating. I came down with a killer cold that kind of took the wind out of my sails for several days. On the plus side, here's a really long chapter! On the downside, I realize this chapter will probably be rather boring as there isn't really any action in it because I have to catch the team up with what's happening. In hindsight, this probably should have been the first chapter, for reasons that are probably obvious (and I may edit this story in the future such that it is that way), but I hope you enjoy it anyway. More action to come next chapter!

In response to two reviews questioning why Sam called Ed as opposed to the SRU, I believe this chapter will answer your question, but I'll explain my thought process anyway. Super minor spoilers for the chapter, so if you want to skip this note, go ahead. You've been warned.

First of all, thank you Buckeye am I and Guest for sharing your thoughts! I really appreciate it. My reasoning was that, as will be revealed in the chapter, Sam knew Team One was the team about to go on call. Given the circumstances, he was hoping to save a little time and skip the rigamarole of getting through dispatching and all that and connect directly with the team, thus giving them information more quickly. It was a gamble he made that, unfortunately for him, did not pan out. I also wanted him to call Ed because of the friendship and trust to which that speaks. I hope this answers your question satisfactorily!

I am also aware that this story is by no means free of plot-holes... unfortunately. If you spot one, please feel free to message me about it-because I am sure there are ones I am not even aware of-and if I can, I'll do my best to fix it. In the meantime, I hope they do not detract too severely from your reading experience!

Time wise, this chapter starts a little prior to the previous chapter, but quickly catches up.

Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own anything you recognize as Flashpoint characters/themes, nor do I profit from this.

.

.

.

.

* * *

Ed Lane got to SRU headquarters early, as usual. There was an unspoken agreement between the members of Team One that they would arrive an hour or so before shift to work out together, and rarely did a member skip out on that time. Today was shaping up to be an exceptional day, however, as Ed entered the men's locker room and noted that Sam was not already there. Sam was always already there; he was always the first one to arrive. Ed frowned at his teammate's absence, but shrugged it off. After changing, he headed to the workout room and started biking. Moments later he was joined by Spike and Wordy and, shortly after that, Greg and Jules. After fifteen minutes of no Sam, Ed was decidedly uneasy. "Hey Boss, you know why Sam isn't here?"

Greg looked over to his team lead in surprise. "Did I forget to mention that?"

Ed gave him a look.

Greg smiled. "I take it from your sour stare that yes, I forgot to mention it. Sam told me yesterday that he would be here in time for shift, but would probably miss most of our workout. Mentioned something about shopping?"

Ed didn't consider Sam the shopping type, but figured everyone had to go shopping at some point. Worries sufficiently assuaged, he went back to biking with a singular focus. The team was fairly quiet this morning, but that wasn't surprising given they were down one member and that they'd had a particularly rough, long day yesterday, so Ed was hoping for a quiet one today. His hopes were dashed the moment Winnie's voice sounded over the speaker twenty minutes later. "Team One, hot call. Shots fired at The Oakes store in North End Mall just a few blocks away, reports of multiple hostages."

Ed met Greg's surprised gaze; technically they were not on duty for another fifteen minutes.

"Winnie," Greg called, abandoning the weights and hurrying into the hall, "Team Four can't take it? We're a man down at the moment."

"Negative, sir, Team Four was called to a convenience store robbery gone bad, and Team Two is still dealing with a situation in a High School. I know you guys aren't on shift yet, but you're all we've got," she explained quickly.

"All right, Team One suite up!" Greg shouted, and just like that they scrambled to comply. "Winnie, try to get a hold of Sam and tell him to meet us there. We'll bring his gear."

She nodded, immediately beginning to dial his number.

As Ed finished changing and grabbing his gear, he went to put his phone in his pocket. As he did so, it began to vibrate in his hand. He checked the number and, seeing as it was one he did not recognize, he was forced to ignore it. Time was of the essence.

They rushed out to the SUVs and, just minutes after the call came in, were on their way to the scene.

"Winnie," Ed called through the headset, "You get a hold of Sam yet?"

"Sorry, Ed, but no. His phone rings but he's not answering. Maybe he's already en route to headquarters?"

"Yeah maybe," Ed replied. "All right, well keep trying. What's the situation we're headed into?"

"At approximately 8:35 a.m. six masked and armed gunmen entered the store and open fired into the air. Some customers were able to escape, but most weren't as the gunmen blocked the front exit. At this time we do not know how many hostages they have. On scene police say they have limited visual into the store and have not tried to breach the front doors. Contact has not been made and no demands issued."

"Okay Winnie, let us know if you get anything else," Greg told her. "Listen up, team," he called through the mics, "this sounds like it's going to be a tricky one. These guys are aggressive and have picked a highly public target for unknown reasons. Everyone keep your wits about you and let's go keep the peace."

(...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...)

Arriving at the mall, they were met with a fairly well controlled scene. A perimeter had been set up outside the mall and maintained by the police. Ed marched through that line, flashing his credentials and leading the rest of the team straight into the building. He quickly located the current command post, which was a jewelry shop in the middle of the mall hallway—now abandoned and commandeered by officers—two stores down from The Oakes.

"Who's in charge here?" Greg called out as they approached.

"That would be me," a man answered, separating himself from the crowd. "I'm Detective Stanwick, one of the first on the scene."

"Sergeant Greg Parker, SRU. What can you tell me about the situation? We only know that six gunmen entered the store and are still inside with an unknown number of hostages."

The man nodded. "That's about the size of it. Gunfire ceased a little while ago. Right now we have no way of getting inside the building without antagonizing the gunmen. Our techie is working on getting the security feeds from inside the store, but so far no luck. I have a unit checking out the back entrance now."

Greg removed his hat and rubbed a hand over his head. "And no demands have been made?"

"No."

"What do these guys want, then?" Greg muttered to himself, though Ed heard him and couldn't help but wonder the same. "Okay guys," Greg said, turning to his team, "Spike you're in the truck. Work your magic and get us those video feeds a.s.a.p. Wordy and Ed, start looking at blueprints and floorplans and try to find us the best way in—"

The rest of Greg's orders were cut off as officers stationed at the front of the store began yelling and shouting for orders. The team and Detective Stanwick whirled around and watched, frozen, as the security gates—that normally sealed the store at night—began their slow way across the entrance. In what seemed like mere moments, they connected with the other side of the doorway, sealing the gunmen and all of the hostages inside.

"Stanwick! Stanwick!" The detective's radio crackled to life.

"Go for Stanwick," he replied in a calm voice, though Ed could see him swallowing nervously.

"They locked the back doors! I repeat, the back doors just electronically locked! We were not able to breach!"

Various members of the team and the surrounding police force uttered curses.

Greg sighed. "Well that makes our job a whole lot harder."

"You can say that again," Ed agreed.

"Okay, team, regroup. Spike you're still in the truck. Get those feeds and work on overriding the security gates and door locks. Ed and Wordy, still look at blueprints and floorplans and try to find us a way in with, and without the use of the doors. Winnie," he directed his attention to his headset.

"Yes Sergeant Parker?"

"Sam is now officially late. Whatever the reason, it's unacceptable. In addition to you continuing trying to reach him, please see if you can contact an off duty officer and get them out here. Even if Sam shows up in the next few minutes, we could use the extra hands."

"Copy that."

"Detective," Greg started to say, refocusing his attention on his immediate surroundings, "Was anyone able to exit the store after the gunmen entered?"

"Yes, two people were able to make it outside: a wife and husband. We have them waiting over there but they haven't been able to provide us with much information."

Greg nodded. "Jules, you're with me."

The team quickly dispersed to their assigned locations. Ed and Wordy followed Spike out into the truck in order to locate the electronic plans of the mall. Spike's fingers began flying over the keyboard and he muttered to himself, "All right my beautiful video feeds, show me all of your gorgeous pictures and unlock your strong, beautiful doors."

Ed tuned the bomb specialist out in order to focus on his own task. Wordy was able to gain access to the blue prints and he immediately pulled them up on the screen. They scanned them in silence for several minutes, at the end of which Ed softly cursed. "This does not look promising."

"No, it doesn't," Wordy echoed his sentiments. "If those security doors remain down, we have no entry from the front. We _might_ be able to breach through the back east wall beside one of the locked doors, but that's going to make a lot of noise; it's one foot of concrete."

Ed eyed the plans critically. "Our best hope is that Spike can disengage the locks on the doors in the back, but if he can't do that…" he paused allowing the techie time to interrupt him and refute his slanderous words, but Spike was too engaged in his current projects. Ed shrugged and continued, "If he can't do that, then our best option of full entry is going to be through one of the walls shared with one of the adjoining shops. Probably the north one." He looked more closely at the duct work. "Maybe… maybe we could get one of us in through the ducts… That'll be a last resort though because if we were discovered, we'd be totally vulnerable. At the very least we could snake a camera in them to get a look inside."

Behind them, Spike's mutterings became louder. Ed turned. "What's up Spike?"

"This guy is one smooth criminal, I'll give him that. He's got so many layers of encryption wrapped around that store's electronics it's like peeling an onion, and he's only had minutes to lay the groundwork. I'm making headway but not as fast as I would like, and I'm not comfortable even giving you guys an estimate as to when—" he paused and reluctantly changed his words "—if I will be able to crack it." He met Ed's gaze. "This sure seems like a lot of trouble and planning to just hit one store."

Hearing Spike voice aloud Ed's own thoughts and worries didn't set Ed's mind at ease. If anything, it just intensified his churning gut. "Yeah, I think you're right, Spike. We're missing something. Boss, you got anything from those witnesses yet?" Ed called over the headsets.

(...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...)

Greg and Jules approached the couple that was sitting on a bench a few hundred feet away. Both looked somewhat shell shocked,

"Good morning," Greg started kindly, "I'm Sergeant Gregory Parker with the SRU. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

The couple looked up and met his eyes, glanced at each other, then shook their heads.

"All right, first off Mr. and Mrs. Wright, where were you when the men entered the store?"

It was Mr. Wright who answered. He visibly gathered himself and cleared his throat. "Uhm, we had just finished paying for out items and were on our way out when Alicia," he glanced to his wife, "saw some frames hanging on the wall to the right of the exit. We've been looking for a long time for this very particular type…" he trailed off as he realized the SRU was probably not interested in those inane details. He started again. "Uh, anyway, we were off in the corner, right by the door but kind of obscured by a shelf, when the… men entered. They walked right by us without even realizing we were there. The moment we realized what was going on, we got out of there as fast as we could."

Greg marveled at how fortunately positioned the couple had been. "Can you describe what happened when the men entered?"

"They came in the doors, walked about ten feet into the store and just open fired into the air. They already had masks on, so I should've realized something was up the moment they set foot in the store, but they just moved so fast! I froze!" Mr. Wright paused and looked down, ashamed. His wife reached over and squeeze his hand gently.

When it became clear that he was not going to continue, Mrs. Wright spoke up. "They started yelling at people to freeze and get down. People were screaming, and some of them started running… the ones that did that… well, let's just say the men stopped firing straight up in the air. I don't know if anyone was hit, but people stopped fleeing pretty quickly. Mark and I took that opportunity to get out, so we didn't see anything beyond that. I'm sorry we can't be of more help."

"No, no, you've been very helpful, thank you," Greg assured them. "Just a couple more questions. Did you get any sense of the kind of people these men were? Anything that seems inconsequential to you could actually be very important."

She clearly thought about it for a long while, before saying, "There were eight of them, I think, and they were cohesive. Cooperative. There were no miscommunications, no extraneous movements, everything was calculated and executed with precision. I couldn't tell which one was the leader because they worked so well as a team."

Greg raised his eyebrows at her detailed depiction of the group. "You got all that from just watching them for a few seconds?"

She met his eyes without guilt or hesitation. "I'm a psychologist, Sergeant Parker, I've learned to pay attention to what body language has to say, even in brief encounters."

"Okay, thank you both very much for your time." He turned to go but Jules spoke up for the first time.

"Mr. Wright? Mr. Wright, can you look at me?" Slowly, the man raised his gaze to meet hers. "I need you to really listen to me, okay? There was nothing you could have done. If you had, you probably wouldn't be here and we wouldn't have the information we do now. This information is going to help us. Do you understand?"

He looked at her and really searched her eyes for the truth. She held nothing back. After a moment, he nodded in understanding.

Jules turned and followed Greg back towards the command post.

"Boss, you got anything from those witnesses yet?" Ed's voice came over the coms.

"Yeah Eddie, quite a bit actually. These men are efficient, organized, have obviously worked together before, and are not afraid to fire a gun at people. There may already be casualties, if not fatalities, but we can't be sure. We need to find a way to end this, and fast. You got a way in yet?"

(...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...Flashpoint...)

At Greg's reply, Ed's worry increased, if that was even possible. "No, Boss, we don't have a good way in," he informed his Sergeant, frustrated. "Spike's still working on the technical end, but in the meantime Wordy and I are going to try and snake a camera in through the duct work to get an idea of what's going on in there." As an afterthought he turned to Wordy. "Do we even have a snake cam long enough? That store's huge."

Wordy was quick to say that, yes, they did, though it was going to be one pain in the butt job of feeding it all the way through the vents and finding the actual location of the hostages and gunmen.

Ed heard Greg sigh. "Okay Eddie, you do that. In the meantime I'm going to try to get these guys on the phone and see if we can't figure out what they want."

"Copy that." He turned to Wordy. "Grab that cam and let's go. There's a vent on the outer back wall we can start through."

The two men headed out of the truck. They set out at a quick jog around the building, as time was of the essence. Ed heard Greg begin to try to contact the gunmen through a megaphone, encouraging them to pick up the phone. He turned his attention to his surroundings as they made their way around the building. They were just passing a bike rack that had only one, lonely bike locked to it. It was a stark contrast to the over full parking lot, Ed mused. They rounded the corner and reached the back entrance to The Oakes, quickly locating the vent. As Wordy set to work deploying the snake cam, Ed tuned back into the conversation (or lack of) that Greg was trying to start.

"Gentlemen," Ed heard Greg repeat through the loudspeaker for the umpteenth time, "would you please pick up the phone? I'm here to make sure everyone goes home safely today, including you, and I can't do that if you don't talk to me. That's all I'm asking for. Just to talk."

The phone continued to ring twice more before it abruptly stopped.

"Hello? This is Sergeant Greg Parker with the Police Strategic Response Unit, to whom am I speaking?"

There was a long, silent pause, before, "You just want to talk you say?"

Ed exhaled in relief as Greg began conversing with the man. "That's right, I just want to talk."

"Okay, well then start talking." The man's voice was rough and demanding.

"Well can you tell me why we're here today?"

"No."

"Okay then, how about the people inside with you. The people that were shopping for gifts and the people that are just trying to make a living by working there, how are they doing?"

The man laughed. "Trying to humanize them are you? Why do you want to know?"

"Like I said it's my job as a police officer to ensure that everyone goes home safely today, that is my number one priority. I'd like to know how those people are doing."

There was another pause. A muffled voice in the background yelled, "This is all screwed up man! It wasn't supposed to take this long!" The subject Greg had been speaking with yelled for silence, before directing his attention back to Parker. "So you're saying your biggest concern is the _hostages',_ " he spit the word out, "health?"

Greg paused and Ed knew he was trying both to figure out what that exchange was all about, and to quickly calculate where this conversation was headed. "Yes," he said slowly, "I would say that is my number one concern at this time."

"So you're not actively trying to disable me and my men?"

Ed did not like where this was going.

"At this time we are trying to come up with a solution where everyone goes—"

"—Goes home safely, you said," the man interrupted. "You didn't answer my question."

Ed could tell that things were quickly getting out of control and that the subject was beginning to take control of the conversation. He knew that Greg knew that, though, and he trusted the Sergeant to find a way through.

Greg tried re-directing the man's focus and making a better connection with him. This man was clearly familiar with negotiation tactics. "I don't prefer to speak to people without a name, as I'm sure you know it dehumanizes them and I for one try to avoid that. Is there something I can call you—"

"Don't try to change the subject!" The man yelled. "I know all about your tricks and games, Sergeant _Par-ker,_ " the man growled derisively, "and I tell you what, I am sick of them! You have given me no reason to trust you; every word out of your mouth has been lies!"

"Sir, that is not true. I have been nothing but honest with you." Greg replied evenly.

"Ha! Then tell me why I cannot locate one of my men, huh?! Explain that to me Mr. 'I'm only concerned about the hostages!'"

Ed's forehead furrowed in confusion. The subjects were down one man? That didn't make any sense.

"Sir, I don't understand what you're talking about. Please help me understand what you're saying."

"I am saying, Parker, that clearly you have been lying because one of my men has been taken down and is missing! You and your 'elite' squad can be the only culprits! You obviously already have a man inside!"

"Sir, is it possible that your man deserted?"

"No," came the subject's cold reply. "We found signs of a struggle."

Ed's head snapped up at this new piece of information. Was there a customer fighting back from the inside? Ed knew Greg had a split second decision to make. How to explain to the subject what was going on?

"Okay Sir, listen to me. Look at a clock. Can you see one? Look at the time. We just arrived on scene ten minutes ago and the police beat us by just a few minutes. If your man has been missing longer than that, there is no possible way for us to have interfered with you already."

"You're saying that you're telling the truth and you are not actively sabotaging my mission?"

"That is correct, sir. I will not lie to you."

There was a long, deadly silence. "I believe you… I have a little something to deal with. I'll call back in a few minutes." There was a deafening click.

"Greg," Ed murmured over the coms, "You might have just thrown whoever it is working inside to the wolves."

Greg let out a tormented sigh. "I know Eddie, I know… but it's crucial that the subjects begin to trust us and they cannot do that if they thinks we've already betrayed them. I'm hoping that guy will lay low and not attempt anymore heroics. Ed, did you catch what one of the subjects said in the background?"

"Yeah, Boss, I did. They probably weren't planning on needing to deploy the security gates. They were probably hoping to be in and gone by the time we got here, which means they weren't planning for hostages so they might not know how to handle them. That worries me because it makes them more unpredictable, not to mention more stressed out and likely to become volatile."

"I agree with you Eddie. It also gives us no clues as to why they're here. What would possess eight men to attack a mall department store with the hopes of being in and gone in under five minutes? We're missing something here and I don't like it. How are we going with getting eyes in?"

"Still working on it, but we're getting close to the front of the store now. We're taking a gamble, though, guessing that that's where the hostages and subjects are," Wordy informed them.

"Okay, let's work on identifying these guys. Spike, can you take a minute and look at the cameras outside of the store? Surely these guys didn't walk straight through the mall with masks on and no one noticed."

Spike hummed his assent, but moments later he came back with a frustrated sigh. "That's exactly what they did boss. The Oakes isn't that far from the entrance and they timed it such that the hall was mostly empty. I'll double check the parking lots, but I have a feeling they did the same thing there. These guys are good."

"If we don't know they're faces and can't get an ID off of that, what _do_ we know about these guys?" Jules piped up.

"Smart, meticulous, aggressive… they've obviously worked together before and are a tight knit group given how upset the subject on the phone seemed at the disappearance of one of his partners. Seemed like more than just mad that we might already be inside, I think they care about each other," Greg analyzed.

"That seems pretty abnormal for just hired guns," Ed commented, "most guys couldn't care less about what happens to their men so long as the job gets done. So what does that make these guys? Ex-military? Gang? Ex-cops?"

"I'm not willing to rule anything out, but they don't _feel_ like military to me. The vibe I got off of the man on the phone did not exude what I've come to expect from ex-military men. Not that I have encountered endless numbers of ex-military personnel."

Ed smiled, thinking of their own ex-military sniper that was always calm and collected even under heavy duress. Checking the time, he saw that their shift had officially started more than fifteen minutes ago, and he wondered again where said ex-military sniper was. Sam was late. Very late for SRU standards, and Sam was _never_ late. Ed growled to himself, complaining about young men who didn't deem it necessary to get out of bed. Wordy heard and looked up at him in surprise; they both knew that wasn't like Sam. When he met Ed's gaze, he understood Ed knew that and was just expressing his worry in the only way he knew how to: gruffly. "I'm sure he has a perfectly good reason, Ed. Maybe he's stuck in traffic?"

"He bikes to work, Wordy, traffic shouldn't affect him," Ed huffed. Partially he was frustrated because he felt like there were several pieces of a puzzle that were floating just beyond his reach and he was still unable to hammer them into place.

"What about this guy inside? Do we have any way of contacting him?" Spike inquired. "I still can't break through this encryption, but I'm close." The hacker's mounting frustration was evident in his voice. For him to encounter something he could not fix was a rare occurrence.

"How do you know it's a guy? What if it's a woman?" Jules demanded good naturedly. "Can't jump to conclusions."

"All right fine, figure of speech. Would you have preferred I asked about the wo-man inside? Or the she-he? Or the man—"

"We get the picture Spike," Greg cut in. "To answer your question, Jules, unfortunately I don't think we know anything about this person beyond the fact that he _or_ she is either highly skilled—having taken down one subject and avoiding detection—or just plain lucky. Or both."

As the team continued to brainstorm, Ed began to head back towards the truck in order to grab more blueprints. They had not thought to bring them with them the first time. As he began walking, he dialed Winnie on his phone.

"Hey Ed, what's up?" came her quick reply.

"Winnie, this has gone on long enough. You still haven't reached Sam?" At her confirmation, he continued, "Then track his phone and find out where he is and send a squad car to pick him up. He needs to be here."

"On it Ed, just stay on the line and I'll have his location in just a moment…" keys began to pound rapidly on the other end.

He was just passing the bike rack. Glancing over he saw that the same bike was still there, and it was still lonely. Shaking his head at people's laziness, he turned away and froze, just as Winnie's voice came back through the line.

"Um, Ed? I think the tracking device is malfunctioning or something, because it's saying that he's practically next to you, on your right…"

Everything stopped. Winnie's voice, his teammates' discussion, his footsteps, the parking lot noises, his breath, his heartbeat… The world was silent as he slowly turned to his right, his eyes falling on the lone mountain bike locked to the rack, patiently waiting for its owner to return. It was a completely unremarkable bike, without any frills, made only to serve… exactly how its owner would want it to be. With faltering steps he approached the bike and with a trembling hand he reached into the sole bag attached to it, pulling out an all too familiar phone. There were more than seventeen missed calls from SRU headquarters. With an aching heart, all of the rest of the puzzle pieces suddenly snapped into place. Sam was late, Sam had been going shopping, he left his phone outside, SRU got a hot call to a shopping mall, Ed had received a call moments later from an unknown number, he hadn't answered… the subjects were down a man, there was someone inside working against them. That person was either highly skilled, or highly lucky, and Ed now knew that it was the former, though he now prayed that luck would be with Sam today, too. He closed his eyes, because for a moment, he could believe that it wasn't true. That Sam was not trapped inside a store with eight—no, _seven_ —armed gunmen, an untold number of hostages, and no immediate backup… But it was true.

At some point he realized he'd hung up on Winnie. He'd have to apologize to her later, but that was not his priority right now. As the world came crashing back to life, sounds cascading in his ears, he swore explosively. Of all the people that this would happen to, it had to be Sam! He had the worst timing ever!

There was silence over the coms, but this time it was real. "Um, Ed? You okay, buddy?" Greg asked, concern evident in his voice.

Ed fought to get the words out past his throat, which was threatening to close in fear for his friend. "I know where Sam is," he managed.

"That's great!" Spike cried enthusiastically, "Is he on his way?"

"He's already here."

"What? When did that happen? I thought he'd come to the truck first since it's kind of the first thing you see when you come."

 _Oh God, why was this so difficult?_ Ed thought desperately. "No, I mean he's here, as in he's in that store. He's the man inside."

Silence. "Come again?" The Italian demanded. "Surely I did not just hear you say that Sam, _our_ Sam, is in The Oakes? Why the hell would he have any reason to go to The Oakes!?"

Ed understood Spike's response, because it was his own instinctive reaction. Channel your fear into anger and disbelief. "I have his bike and phone here that say otherwise. I also have a missed call, text, and voicemail from an unknown number that I think is Sam. It came in just after the hot call."

Everyone took a moment to adjust to this news that was both horrifying, and hopeful. It was horrifying because their teammate was likely right in the line of fire, but it also gave them a small shred of hope because Sam was not just an SRU officer that knew how to handle these situations, he had more training than most SRU officers and was a highly skilled former soldier.

"Okay," Greg began, struggling to keep his voice calm, "Everyone except Wordy re-convene at the truck. We need to listen to that voicemail and plan our next move. Wordy, keep working on eyes-in. And please hurry."

.

.

.

.

* * *

 **A.N.2.** Since I can't recall it happening on the show, I don't know what would happen if the active teams were busy and the next team available was down a man... Maybe they wouldn't get sent out, maybe they would. I hope my choice of them getting sent out does not seem harebrained or unrealistic to you! Also, this chapter is very long and my eyes began to lose focus reading it for the umpteenth time trying to catch spelling errors and mistakes. Please excuse any I have overlooked.


	5. Chapter 4

**A.N.** And we're back to Sam and Libby! Let's see what kind of trouble these two get into. This chapter was actually very fun for me to write, for several reasons, so I hope you all enjoy reading it!

Once again, thank you for the reviews and encouragement! 2 Guests, venetiaj, missblueeyes63, Everlost101, Buckeye am I, Sewtunes, bobbi,newburn... you all deserve medals!

As always, I do not own Flashpoint, nor profit from this story. I do own Libby, however :)

.

.

.

.

* * *

Libby nearly sagged in relief when she heard Sam agree to go find Tulio. He was only six and he was her little brother. No matter how annoying he could be, it was her job to look after him. She pointed towards the back of the store. "The back office is in the north-east corner. We have an office up front, too, but Tulio was working in the back."

Sam looked at her in dismay. "Libby, there's an entire store between us and that office."

She nodded carefully, worried he was going to back out on her.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. There was a moment of intense silence as she waited for him to disappoint her, before he gave a nod. "Okay, I need you to draw me a layout of the store with the gist of what each aisle contains, as detailed and precise as you can be." He pulled out the large sheet of paper that was supposed to be her evaluation and handed it to her. He smiled wryly at her. "Guess I won't be turning in that evaluation after all."

Despite the situation, she couldn't help but smile back. "If you save my brother, I think I can forgive you."

She quickly took out her pen and began drawing. It didn't take her long; she'd been walking these aisles for a long time and she knew them by heart. When she'd finished, she handed it back to Sam. He studied it for a moment, then nodded, tucking it in his pocket. She stared at him. "You memorized it already?"

It was his turn to nod.

"Where did you learn to do that?" She asked, impressed and envious.

"When I was in the military it was necessary for me to be able to look at maps and be intimately familiar with them in a very short amount of time," he told her, then smirked and continued, "and yours was pretty simple so it didn't take very long."

She pretended to be offended, but secretly she was grateful. So very grateful for his skills and selflessness, and that she had been standing by this man when the chaos had begun. If not for him, she was certain that she would be dead already.

"So here's what we're going to do. We're going to make our way across the store as quickly and quietly as we can, get Tulio, and then we'll have to figure out where to go from there. I can't leave you here in case this guy wakes up and starts making enough noise for his buddies to come and find him." He looked at her earnestly. "I'm not going to lie to you, this is going to be dangerous. Are you sure you're up to it?"

She knew he wasn't challenging or doubting her because she was a 'little girl,' he was asking her because he was concerned about her. She knew that he felt she was his responsibility, just like Tulio was hers, and she appreciated his frankness. "Yes, I'm sure."

He nodded, seeming to have expected that answer. "Then you stay right behind me, okay? Within arms-reach. If you hear anything, footsteps, whatever, you tap my hip."

She nodded her understanding.

He took a deep breath and moved to the diminutive doorway, opening it just a crack. She waited with baited breath, praying that no one was there. After several moments, he nodded and they both moved forward out of the house. Once outside, Sam straightened to his full height and quickly moved into the relative safety of an aisle.

They moved quietly down the aisle and, once they came to the end of it, Sam stopped and carefully peered around the edge, exposing as little of himself as possible. He waited for several breaths, then rushed across the open space and into the next aisle. Libby marveled at how quietly he was able to move—compared to him she felt like she was walking around with wooden blocks on her feet, even though size wise, it should have been the other way around.

They were in the middle of the stuffed animal aisle when they both heard footsteps approaching down the row in front of them. Libby froze, uncertain of what to do, but Sam reacted immediately by pushing her behind him and into the fluffy arms of a six foot tall panda, effectively hiding her from view. Sam himself, though, was too large to be completely obscured by the black and white monstrosity. Libby closed her eyes and gently placed her hands on either side of Sam's hips, not caring that her right hand became damp from his sweat, seeking just that simple human contact to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. She felt him flinch at her touch, before he reached down with his left hand and gently covered her hand with his. She prayed that the footsteps would continue on without stopping, that the man would not notice the black boots protruding from the panda's paws.

The footsteps gradually grew louder and louder, reaching their peak in noise level and she could swear that any moment they would freeze and her desperate rescue attempt would be over… but it never happened. They moved on without a hitch in their rhythm. She let out a small sigh of relief.

She and Sam left the shelter of the panda's beady eyes. They reached the end of the aisle and stopped again. They needed to move along the more exposed row now in order to make it towards the back of the store. But while they were in that row, they would be more visible from the front of the store. They had no choice. Stepping cautiously out of the aisle, they began moving towards the back, stopping and ducking into the aisles along the way in an effort to avoid being seen. They had almost reached the back of the store and Libby was beginning to believe they'd make it, when all of a sudden they rounded the corner and entered an aisle, coming face to face with a gunman.

The man was as surprised as they were. His eyes behind the mask widened and he began to open his mouth, prepared to shout a warning to his partners… but he never got the chance. With breathtaking speed Sam struck out with his right hand, catching the man directly in the windpipe. The man gasped for air, suddenly unable to draw breath, and immediately began bringing his gun up to fire. Libby knew that if the gun went off, regardless of if it hit one of them, it was just as surely a death sentence because more gunmen would come running at the sound.

Apparently Sam was aware of this fact, too. He grabbed the man's gun hand and stepped forward, directly into the man's chest, elbowing his stomach while viciously twisting the gun around the man's finger until he heard a crack. The man gasped again, but his already compromised airways could not illicit any more sound than that. His trigger finger useless, he dropped the gun and attempted to engage this blond haired man in hand-to-hand combat. He didn't realize that his gun never hit the ground and was instead caught by small, twelve year old hands.

Libby had been so close to Sam—per his instructions—and had frozen when the fight began, that she was in the perfect position to catch the gun before it hit the floor, averting the potential catastrophe of a misfire. Once the cool metal hit her hands, she flinched at the touch and moved several feet back, so as to be out of Sam's way.

She stood back in awe as Sam seemingly effortlessly dispatched his opponent. Now that the gun was out of play he wasted no time in throwing three quick punches to the man's face, stunning him. Sam then grabbed the man's shoulders and kneed him in the stomach, before readjusting his grip around the man's head and again bringing his knee up to strike him, rendering him unconscious. The whole exchange took no more than sixty seconds, and the man didn't get a single hit in on Sam.

When Sam looked back to check on her she held up the duct tape she still had, raising her eyebrows in a questioning look. He shook his head; they didn't have time for that. They would just have to hope that the man would remain indisposed for a long period of time. Libby held out the gun to Sam, wanting to get the cold, heartless metal away from her skin as quickly as possible. He took it from her, tucked it away somewhere on his person, then began moving down the aisle again. Libby went to follow him, but by chance she glanced down at her hand and froze.

It was red. Her hand was red. There was blood on her hand. Why was there blood on her hand? She had no memory of getting injured. She'd heard stories of people getting injured and not realizing it until hours later, so high on adrenaline they were… but… she was certain she hadn't been injured. So if not her, then… Sam. She remembered touching Sam's hip and feeling wetness and him flinch, but dismissing it as sweat. By this time Sam had turned back for her, realizing she was no longer following. "What's wrong?" he asked in a whisper.

She held out her bloody hand accusingly. "Are you hurt?" she demanded, her voice just as quiet but not nearly as soft. He grimaced, then hesitated. "Don't you dare lie to me, Sam!" she ordered.

Giving up, he nodded, but was quick to reassure her. "It's just a scratch."

"Just a scratch that's bleeding significantly!" she reproached.

He huffed in frustration. "We don't have time for this! We can't just stand in the middle of the aisle here; we're sitting ducks!"

"Fine, but the moment we stop, I'm looking at that," she pointed to his side, firmly.

He nodded placatingly, before taking her hand and rushing to the end of the aisle. Before them lay a sea of clothing racks which were now the only thing between them and the office.

They managed to make it halfway across the painfully open area—with Libby surreptitiously snatching a couple of items along the way—before they once again heard footsteps. Sam glanced around in desperation, unable to locate a sufficient hiding spot. It was Libby, this time, who came to the rescue. With her hand still in Sam's she tugged him towards one of the large circular clothing racks full of floor length dresses. Parting the dresses she pulled him inside of the rack into the relatively empty center. It was a tight squeeze because Sam had to crouch down in order for his head not to be seen, but it would work.

As they waited in tense silence as the footsteps walked back and forth along the clothing racks, drawing ever closer, Libby took it upon herself to assess Sam's bullet graze. His black t-shirt was blocking her view (and effectively preventing her from seeing how much blood it was saturated with), so she pulled the hem upwards, exposing the raw red gash in his side. She winced and bit her tongue—hard—to prevent herself from hissing in sympathy. It wasn't as bad as she'd feared, but it still looked incredibly painful; any way he moved would pull at the edges as a constant, painful irritation.

She looked up at him and found him staring at her. He gave her a small smile, obviously trying to comfort her. Comfort her. Her. He was thinking of her and not himself, the one who was actually hurt and bleeding. She shook her head and reached for the women's leggings she had snatched off the rack as they passed by. When he saw what she held in her hands, he frowned before a look of comprehension, passed over his face, followed quickly by amusement. She wished she had some antiseptic (or really, _any_ medical supplies), but all she had at her disposal was duct tape, scissors, a t-shirt, and a pair of leggings. She folded the shirt and placed it over Sam's wound, pressing hard. She saw his eyes close and knew he was concentrating on not making a sound, then his hand came down over top of hers and pressed harder. She extracted her hands from beneath his in order to wrap the leggings around his body, carefully covering the shirt and holding it in place, before tightening it. When she couldn't make them any tighter, Sam took over. His face didn't change and he didn't make a sound, but she winced for him, knowing it had to hurt.

She sat back and surveyed their handiwork. She was unimpressed. It certainly didn't look great, but she could only hope that it would do the job. Sam seemed to read the uncertainty in her face and leaned over. "This is one of the best field dressings I've ever had, and certainly the most creative," he told her, voice barely a whisper.

She stared at him, thankful for the reassurance but unhappy at the implication that something along these lines had happened to him before… multiple times by the sound of it. Before she could press for details the footsteps finally faded and Sam stood slowly. He peered over the top of the rack then motioned for her to follow him, stepping out into the open once again.

It was hard for Libby to leave the semblance of safety that their hiding place had offered them, but she had a job to do and if Sam was ready to put his life on the line in order to find her brother, then so was she.


	6. Chapter 5

**A.N.** And we return! Apologies for the delayed update... this took me way longer than anticipated and I have absolutely no excuses. I won't keep you with a long author's note, I just want to once again thank you all for your continued interest and support! Roseiibabii, missblueeyes63, Gibby6247, Penguin201, Buckeye am I, Everlost101, Sewtunes, Guest, and garb50... you all deserve cookies!

Still don't own Flashpoint, no matter how much I would love to.

.

.

.

.

* * *

At last the office came into view and Sam breathed a small sigh of relief the moment they entered and shut the door. The office had no windows, offering them another temporary hiding spot out of view from the rest of the store. As Libby moved towards the vent he could see in the opposite wall, Sam scanned the small room. He saw immediately that there were several computers currently displaying the security feeds. Thus far he'd been able to avoid the cameras, but it would be to their advantage if he didn't have to continue to do that. He sat down at the computer and set to work. While he didn't delude himself with the idea that he was as good as Spike was when it came to technology—Spike was a mad-genius-wizard with machines—Sam had been watching the Italian and learning from him whenever possible, so he hoped he would be able to figure something out.

"Tulio," Libby called softly, reaching for the vent's edges. Before she could open it, it flew open and a small body tackled her to the ground. Sam smiled as he saw the two siblings reunite, glad that one thing had gone right in this day that had very quickly gone wrong. As the two began to converse quietly, Sam turned his attention back to the monitors.

He was aware that SRU was probably on scene already and that Spike himself was probably trying to hack into the feeds to get a visual—if he hadn't already. A view of the interior of the store would be crucial to Team One, but Sam couldn't afford to let the gunmen use the video cameras. How to allow only the SRU access? His mind raced as his fingers fly across the keyboard.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Team One—minus the member currently trapped in a store with armed gunmen, and the member trying to get a visual on said trapped member—converged inside the truck. Ed pulled out his phone and opened the text first. It was a photograph of an unconscious man's face. He immediately sent the photo to Spike, who began running facial recognition, then began the voicemail. Sam's voice filled the silent truck. It was muffled at first, as if he was speaking to someone else, but then it began to clear. "Ed, it's Sam. I've got a situation here." Ed closed his eyes, knowing just how much of an understatement that was. He felt guilt's slimy grasp wrap around his heart as Sam continued. _If only I'd picked up the phone!_ he chastised himself.

"I'm at the North End Mall in The Oakes which has been taken by gunmen. I don't know how many there are, but from what I heard they're packing a lot of heat." There was silence for a moment, and Ed wondered if Sam had had to hang up, and he shuddered to think of what situation would cause that to happen, but relief poured through him when his teammate continued. "I've taken one down, but I don't know how long he'll stay that way." His voice faded as if he was once again speaking away from the phone. _Is someone else free?_ Ed wondered hopefully. Maybe Sam wasn't entirely alone, then. His hopes were confirmed only a moment later when they were able to hear Sam receive a muffled response. They couldn't discern what was said, but Sam's voice returned and clarified for them. "I believe they have fifteen or twenty hostages. There were five employees working this morning, but I don't know if any of them managed to make it out." Team One did know the answer to this: none. "This number is a burner I took off of one of the men. You can call it to reach me but I'm going to have to put it on silent. I may not pick up."

Spike immediately dialed the number as Sam's voice once again faded as he spoke to the unknown person with him. The team's hopes were dashed when the number went straight to voicemail, and Ed feared the reason. Spike met his gaze and tried to reassure him. "Could just be the battery died…" Ed hoped that that was all.

Sam's report continued. "At this time we do not know their motive. Money doesn't seem to be their objecti—" his voice broke off and the team collectively held their breaths, knowing there was only one reason he would suddenly stop speaking. They waited in tense silence, praying that his voice would once again fill the truck and assure them that he was okay. What felt like an eternity later, it did. "I have to go," his voice whispered. "I'll send a photo of the one man. See if you can identify him." With that the voicemail ended. A ding from the computer indicated that the facial recognition search had finished.

Spike sighed. "No match in our database."

Ed sighed in frustration. _Why is nothing going our way?_

There was a moment of silence as the team tried to regroup. "Okay," Greg began, "We have eight armed men that are highly organized planning an offensive operation on a department store. One of them has no priors. They have not made any threats or demands, money does not appear to be their objective, so why the hell are they here and going to all this trouble?"

Ed looked at his boss in surprise. Greg rarely swore.

"Spike! You have a visual yet?" the Sergeant demanded.

Spike's face fell. "That's a negative. I just can't break through this encryption... I've never encountered anything like it and I'm afraid…" his voice trailed off as his computer screen suddenly went through a rapid sequence of dialogue boxes before finally settling into image after image of different views of store shelves. "What the…?" Spike's eyes bulged as he turned back to his team. "Uh… Apparently I have a visual."

"Great job Buddy!" Ed congratulated the Italian.

He shook his head. "I'd love to take credit for this, but I didn't do it. I could not break that encryption." He typed a couple of commands. "It looks like someone hacked into _our_ network and gave me the store's network passwords, effectively bypassing the encryption."

"Who?" Jules asked, voicing everyone's thoughts.

Spike clicked on one of the feeds, enlarging it to reveal the back of a very familiar blond head that was seated at a computer console in what appeared to be an office. Spike's grin was a mile wide. "Samtastic!"

Wordy's voice suddenly filtered in through the coms. "You're saying that this camera snake I've been working on for the past I don't know how many minutes is now useless?"

Ed smiled, relieved something was finally going their way. "That's exactly what he's saying, Wordy. Sam has proved he's worthy of his nickname once again."

Greg shared Ed's smile. "Why don't you meet us back here, Wordy. Let's hope we can come up with an effective plan of action."

"On my way."

A thought suddenly occurred to Ed, filling him with dread. "Wait a minute, Spike. Can you cut the feeds? If we can see Sam, that means the subjects can too!"

Spike's face paled and his fingers flew over the keyboard faster than Ed's eyes could track. Moments later he let out an exclamation. "Dang, Sam! You're gonna put me out of a job!" He turned back to his team, once again grinning. "That Samtastic has somehow managed to block all computers on the inside from accessing the feeds, allowing only a remote access: us."

Ed marveled at his friend's skill, but was snapped back to the present the moment Wordy entered the truck and Spike cursed.

"Spike?" Ed demanded, not sure if he wanted an answer.

The Italian enlarged a different camera angle that showed the exterior to the office that Sam was currently in. There was a gunman approaching the door.

"Dammit! Can you warn him?"

The Bomb Expert frantically tried to get a message through to Sam's computer, but it was too late. They all watched in helpless horror as the man opened the door to the small office. There was a moment in which everyone on both ends of the camera remained frozen, then chaos exploded. The man raised his gun, aiming at what appeared to be a young girl whom none of Team One had noticed prior to that moment. Before the man could fire, Sam was up and moving. He slammed into the man from the side, knocking the gun to the floor. They saw the girl shove an even smaller figure beneath the desk and dive to grab the gun, before retreating backwards.

Sam engaged the man in a flurry of furious hand-to-hand combat that had Ed cringing. Both men got strikes in on the other's torso, and if they had audio, Ed feared he would hear bones cracking. Sam swung at the man's head but was blocked. The man tried to raise his leg to knee Sam in the stomach, but Sam quickly blocked with his arms crossed in front of him, sacrificing guarding his face and receiving two quick strikes to the right side of his head. Ed knew Sam must be seeing stars from those blows, but the ex-soldier didn't even slow down. He struck out with the heel of his hand, hitting the man's chin and snapping his head back into the doorframe, blocked the man's wildly flailing right arm with his own left, grabbing that arm in the process and using the man's own momentum to swing him around Sam's body to slam into the other side of the doorframe in a full 180 degree twist. A knife suddenly appeared in the man's left hand, and Ed couldn't help his shout of warning, though he knew it was futile. Sam couldn't hear him, but he saw the knife.

He leapt backwards as the man swiped the knife in front of him in an attempt to slice Sam's chest, and Ed had no way of knowing if the man was successful or not; the video's quality was not good enough. For a brief moment the two men were at an impasse. Then Ed could almost see the gears turning in the gunman's mind as he realized he had backup. Sam seemed to realize this at the exact same time. He leapt forward as the man's mouth opened, grabbing the knife hand as the man tried to stab him. Ed watched in confused terror and then stunned awe as Sam pulled the knife toward his body, seeming about to complete the man's mission, before twisting out of the way at the last second, pulling the man forward and off balance and onto his knees. Ed heard Jules' gasp when it was very clear that Sam broke the man's arm and the knife dropped from the man's hand. Seconds later one of Sam's hands covered the man's mouth while the other forced his head to strike the wall. Hard. The man slumped to the ground, boneless.

The team let out a collective sigh of relief the moment the confrontation was over. Their relief was short lived, however, as Sam began to move rapidly around the small office, collecting a few items from the downed man, speaking rapidly with the young girl and boy still in the room, and finally going to stand watch at the door as the girl got her brother to disappear into a vent in the wall.

"Ah damn," Spike muttered, "Sam's expecting company. The guy must have screamed when he broke his arm."

"If they're leaving the office don't lose them, Spike," Greg instructed. "We need to know where they are, we need to see if we can communicate with Sam, and we need to resolve this situation, now!"

Wordy entered the truck just then with a puzzled expression on his face. "Boss? There are two Witness Protection Officers here and they're demanding to speak with you…"

Everyone turned to look at Wordy as if he'd lost his mind. "Come again?" Greg asked in disbelief. "There are two Witness Protection Officers here? Why are they here?"

Wordy shrugged. "I don't know, but they need to speak with you. They say it's related to this situation and it's urgent."

* * *

.

.

.

.

 **A.N.2.** I am not a computer expert, so if what Sam did is not possible in the real world, well, then in my story it's possible.  
My knowledge of Canada's Witness Protection Program is limited to what I could find on the internet, and I couldn't find the exact title of the officers that would be comparable to U.S. Marshals. If someone out there does know, please shoot me a message!


	7. Chapter 6

**A.N.** My continued thanks for your continued support! I love hearing from you all-hearing your thoughts, your likes, etc-and I apologize for always leaving things on a cliffhanger! Well... not really. But I appreciate your tolerance! As an apology for the last update taking so long, here's another chapter! I hope to be able to post the next chapter within the week, too!

Special thanks to 3 Guests-I wish I could thank you personally-Buckeye am I, missblueeyes63, venetiaj, bobbinewburn, garb50, Everlost101, and cynthia.

I'll stop rambling now and let you get to the story!

.

.

.

.

* * *

The moment the man screamed as his arm broke, Sam knew they were in serious trouble. Up until that point their danger had seemed relatively manageable so long as they continued to escape detection, but that ship had just sailed. He reached to cover the man's mouth quickly, stifling the raucous noise in hopes that the man's companions would not be able to locate where the scream came from immediately. He silenced the man altogether when he slammed his head into the wall.

He looked around for the gun that he knew had clattered to the floor at the beginning of the fight, and paled when he couldn't locate it. Had he miscalculated?

"Sam!" Libby called from by the desk, drawing his attention to the shiny black object she held reluctantly in her hands.

He smiled at her, once again impressed at her quick thinking and bravery, and quickly relieved her of the object he knew she detested. He then confiscated the rest of the useful items he could find on the man, which wasn't much… He puzzled at the men's lack of equipment. He had heard a couple of automatic guns in their initial assault, but so far, one-on-one, he had only encountered hand guns and the men were not carrying much else. Unless they had just unloaded everything up front—which he supposed was possible—this was a very unusual group. He checked the man's last pocket and hit the jackpot. Another burner phone. He didn't have time to use it to call the team now, but he snapped a photo of the man.

He turned, straightening to his full height, and was immediately attacked. Totally unprepared for this assault, he was taken by surprise as a small six year old boy latched onto his leg, silently sobbing. Looking down at the head of curly brown locks of hair, then up to meet Libby's gaze, he saw that she was smiling. "He's scared, Sam," she explained, "and you're safe."

He gave her a dubious look, glancing back at the unconscious man sprawled on the floor, then back at her, clearly communicating his confusion as to how anyone could think he was 'safe' when he'd just nearly killed a man.

Her smile widened. "Exactly. You're a man who can kick serious butt who just saved his," she gestured at her brother, "and my," she added, "life. We don't see you as some coldblooded mercenary who hurts someone just because they can, you just showed us you _stop_ those coldblooded mercenaries before they can hurt anyone. Before they can hurt us. You just became Tulio's hero," she finished simply.

Sam did not think he deserved to be anyone's "hero," but he let the matter drop for now. They had more important things to worry about. He carefully extricated himself from the boy's grasp, crouching down to be on eye level with him. His somber eyes stared back at Sam. They were filled with tears but had a spark of hope in them as he stared at the blond haired officer. Sam did his best to look reassuring. "Hey Tulio, buddy, you've been amazing. Truly amazing. But I need to ask you to be even more amazing for a little while, okay?"

At the boy's serious nod, Sam continued. "I need you to go back where you were hiding okay? And don't come out for anyone but your sister or me. You're going to have to be really quiet okay? There are going to be some men that come looking for us, but you can't let them know you're here."

Tulio's eyes moved to look over Sam's shoulder at the man he knew was lying there. "Yes," Sam nodded, "more men like him are going to come in here. Can you stay quiet and hide for me? It's really, really important that you do that so that I know you're safe." He didn't like the idea of leaving the kid to fend for himself on his own, but if they hadn't found him yet, Sam figured it would be safer leaving him here than taking him out into the store.

"I can do that," Tulio assured Sam in a small voice. He wrapped his arms around Sam's neck in a quick, fierce embrace, which Sam returned, then followed his sister back towards the vent. As Libby got Tulio situated, Sam went to the door of the office and held it open just a crack, watching. He surreptitiously looked down at his shirt, running his hand along his chest. It came away red. He sighed. The man had been fast and, while the knife slice was not very deep, it was yet another annoyance he had to push out of his mind.

His thoughts turned to the moment the gunman first entered the office and his mind encountered something that didn't sit right with him. These men seemed fairly well trained, so their first instinct when they entered a room should be to scan for threats, identify the biggest one, and take him or her out. But this man had entered the room, obviously seen Sam, had been about to target him, and then by all appearances had seen Libby and changed his mind, thus giving Sam a few precious extra seconds that allowed him to disarm the man before any shots were fired. Sam puzzled over this. Why would the man deem Libby as more of a threat? He glanced at the girl who was just finished hiding her brother.

A noise from outside drew his attention away from that line of thought before he could reach a conclusion. Two men were making their way through the clothing racks, not headed for the office—yet—but instead they were searching the racks themselves. Sam felt Libby's hand tuck into his own, and he squeezed it. He glanced down at her for a brief moment, before returning his gaze to the gunmen. What he saw in her eyes lifted his spirits and, at the same time, placed a huge, almost physical burden on his shoulders. He'd seen trust. Absolute trust in her eyes. She trusted him to get her out of this hellish situation, and Sam was terrified he would not be able to live up to her expectations.

The moment the men entered an aisle that hid the office door from their view, Sam moved out into the main store, crouching low so as not to be seen over the racks, pulling Libby along with him. They moved up the north side of the store until they were about halfway to the front. Sam recalled from Libby's map that there was an alcove here. He did not intend on using said alcove as a hiding place—that would be too obvious—but he was banking on the gunmen thinking that he would. It was time to go on the offensive… Just as soon as he tucked Libby away somewhere relatively safe.

He looked upwards. In his experience not many people thought to look that direction, and what he saw boosted his spirits. The shelves here were tall, over twenty feet tall. It was unlikely that anyone would be able to see Libby if she hid on the top shelf due to the angles, but as a bonus, the very top shelf was filled with large boxes that Sam was hoping she would be able to fit behind. He turned to her and crouched down, motioning upwards. "I'll give you a boost."

Her incredulous gaze met his. "You want me to climb up there?"

He nodded.

"You're crazy!" she accused in a fierce whisper.

He frowned, not understanding. It was high up, sure, but it wasn't that hard of a climb and he'd thought she would be happy to get someplace safe.

She crossed her arms. "No. I'm not going up there."

"Why?" he breathed.

She stubbornly shook her head. "It's too high… I'm afraid of heights," she added reluctantly. "It's stupid, I know, but I always have been and I always will be." She was also terrified of leaving Sam, she admitted to herself.

Sam shrugged. "Fair enough. Everyone's afraid of something."

"Even you?" She challenged.

He snorted. "Especially me. The things I've seen on this job, the things I've done…" his voice trailed off and his gaze became distant for a moment before snapping back to her. He put both hands on her shoulders. "Let's just say nightmares aren't a thing of the past for me. Sounds like the only difference between us is that you let your fear stop you from doing things and I don't."

She looked at him for a long moment and he let his mask drop just for a second, letting her see how terrified he was that they weren't going to get out of this… that he was going to fail. He let her see how haunted he was by his past mistakes and failures, and the horrors he'd witnessed. She saw the burden he carried, and instead of backing away in fright, she leaned forward and embraced him. "Okay, but there's something you need to know."

She disengaged herself from the hug. "I know why these men are here. They're here for me."

She expected him to call her a liar, not to believe her, even to tell her she was wrong and she was just a dumb kid who thought the world revolved around her… But he didn't. He remained silent and nodded for her to go on. And that was why she'd decided to trust him. It wasn't because he'd saved her life three times now, and her brother's once. It wasn't because he was able to be so calm. It wasn't because he was an SRU officer. It wasn't because he'd been in the military and had serious, serious skills. All of those facts were important, but they weren't the reason she trusted him. She trusted him because he was Sam. She'd known him less than a day, but in all of that time he'd never once talked down to her. Never once treated her like a child. He'd protected her, no questions asked, and he'd listened to her like he would any other peer. She knew she could trust him, and she knew he'd believe her.

Knowing that time was precious and not on their side, she gave him the barest facts. "Two years ago I lived in Calgary where I saw a gang shooting. I was the only witness. The rival drug gang is here in Toronto, so the RCMP placed my family and me in witness protection here. They figured it would be the last place the Calgary gang would be able to look."

Sam seemed to take all of this in stride. "That's actually really good news."

She frowned in confusion. "Um, how?"

"If they're only here for you, that means they're less likely to hurt the hostages. That's not their goal. We just need to keep you out of their hands, which means you are definitely going to have to climb up there." He pointed to the top of the shelves again.

Every fiber of her being was telling her not to leave Sam. Sam was solid. Sam was trustworthy. Even amidst all of this chaos, with men trying to hunt her down and kill her in this very store, Sam made her feel safe. She hadn't felt safe since that day two years ago when she heard the first gunshots. Not when the police found her, not when they relocated her, not even after two years of no one finding them. She almost laughed. Now that they had finally found her, she felt safe. She fought back her tears. "I don't want to go, Sam. I feel like if you're not here, something's going to happen to me." She didn't mention her fear of something happening to him while she wasn't there.

"Hey," he cupped his hand behind her neck, "nothing's going to happen to you. I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you."

A few tears escaped her efforts. "That's a funny thing to promise," she heaved, trying to stay quiet.

He narrowed his eyes. "Hunh?"

"If—if you don't let anything happen to me, then nothing will ever happen to me. Not much fun for little me," she finished, smiling through her tears, hoping he'd catch the reference.

His face cleared in understanding. "I won't let anything _bad_ happen to you," he amended. "I promise."

How could she doubt him? "Okay," she whispered, barely audible.

"Now up you go." He lifted her as high onto the shelves as he could. The moment he was no longer supporting her, she felt panic rising. She forced it down viciously. Her hero was counting on her. He couldn't be watching out for her while stopping these men. She reached the very highest shelf more than twenty feet in the air and, to her dismay, found that the boxes took up too much room; she couldn't fit behind them. Refusing to give up she continued until she was on the very top of the shelves instead, and lay down flat. She trembled, feeling very exposed and wishing he was there to give her a comforting embrace. Steeling herself, she rolled over onto her stomach to look down at the man who had saved her life today more times than she could ever repay him for, and who was about to risk his life to save countless more. She gave him a thumbs up, which he returned along with a brilliant, warm smile of encouragement, then she watched him silently move down the aisle and out of her sight. She prayed that would not be the last time she saw him. As she rolled over onto her back again, away from the edge, something caught her eye. Where she had been lying on her stomach moments ago the white shelves were stained red. With blood. She glanced down at her red shirt and sure enough, there were blotches that were darker. Closing her eyes and remembering hugging Sam in her moment of fear, she dropped her head back onto the shelves and, for the first time in her twelve year old life, she used a swear word. "Dammit, Sam!"

.

.

.

.

* * *

 **A.N.2.** Hope you all caught what Libby's reference was to! Don't know why that Pixar movie wanted to be mentioned in my story, but it did...  
The fact that there are drug gangs in Calgary and Toronto is completely dreamed up from my imagination. There very well may be, but there very well may not be.


	8. Chapter 7

**A.N.** As always, it is great to hear from you guys! Thanks for all the support and for sticking with me. Special thanks to nicoles13, Buckeye am I, Roseiibabii, venetiaj, missblueeyes63, garb50, Sewtunes, cynthia, and 3 Guests.

To Ella (Guest): I'm so glad you like the story :) Regarding your prompts, I would love to try writing one! Sadly I cannot guarantee I'll succeed or meet your expectations, but once this story is finished I'll give one of them a shot!

To everyone else, I am absolutely 100% open to prompts. I welcome them! It's very helpful to hear what other people are looking for and it often inspires me!

Happy reading!

.

.

.

.

* * *

Greg and Ed followed Wordy outside. He led them to the perimeter of the scene where police officers were preventing two men in suits from crossing.

Greg intervened. "Let them through," he instructed the officers. "Good afternoon, I'm Sergeant Gregory Parker with the SRU and this is Constable Ed Lane, my team lead. I understand you have some pertinent information for us?"

The two men nodded. "We're Officers Wade and Burcell. We've been cleared to inform only the officer in charge, Sergeant Parker. This information is highly classified and sensitive."

Ed narrowed his eyes. "We're in the middle of a hostage situation involving eight armed men and at least fifteen hostages, all barricaded inside a department store, and you're gonna give us classified crap? This isn't even your jurisdiction! So you can either start talking or start walking. Your choice."

While Greg wouldn't have used Ed's tactic himself, he was relieved when it worked. The two officers shared a look before shrugging. The taller one, Wade, muttered, "I think it's safe to say her cover's blown anyway."

Burcell nodded. "Okay Sergeant, have it your way. The family that owns this store is currently in Witness Protection. They—specifically the daughter—are instrumental witnesses in a high profile case back in Calgary."

"What the hell are they doing in Toronto?" Ed demanded.

"Two years ago the drug lord of Calgary—Bruce Evans—shot and killed two innocents. He's done this before and we've never been able to tie it to him—he's that good—but this time, he didn't realize there was a witness. A ten year old, Elizabeth Riles. His organization is powerful, and he has a long arm, but his biggest competitor and rival is here, in Toronto. We had hoped that placing her in the city where he and his men are least welcome would prevent her discovery… It worked for a while, but he's upped his efforts recently because his case is about to go to trial."

"So these men are here to take out a twelve year old?"

"We believe so, yes."

"Why go to all this trouble? Stage a store robbery and take hostages?" Ed wondered. "Wouldn't it have just been easier to kidnap her or take her out on the streets?"

"Too conspicuous, Ed," Greg murmured. "If she mysteriously dies or gets kidnapped, the first person everyone is going to look at is the guy about to go down because of her testimony. But if she just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and gets killed with a bunch of other hostages in a store robbery gone wrong, well…"

"Do you have eyes in?" Burcell inquired. "Do you know what's going on in there? If she's safe?"

Greg motioned for them to follow him and started back towards the truck. "Yeah we just got eyes in a little while ago, thanks to our man inside."

"You've got a man in there?" Wade asked in astonishment.

"Not exactly," Ed replied. "A teammate of ours was in the wrong place at the right time," _I hope_ , Ed added silently to himself, praying that it didn't turn into a wrong place wrong time situation. "He's eluded capture and taken down two of the eight subjects and gotten a photograph of one of them to us." Wade and Burcell looked suitably impressed. "Unfortunately we were unable to identify the man and they have just become aware of our teammate's presence," Ed added worriedly. "I don't know how much longer he can last without backup. We haven't been able to find an acceptable entry point and the subjects have stubbornly refused negotiations. They've made no demands, which now makes sense; what they want is already in there." He recalled the subject's earlier conversation during the phone call, the somewhat panicked shout of "this is all screwed up," and "it wasn't supposed to take this long," suddenly made a lot more sense. Ed couldn't keep the smile from his face.

Greg noticed. "What's that for, Eddie?"

"They did all this research, all the preparation and planning, knew when the girl was going to be at the store and how to trigger the security system, but they didn't plan on Samo. He's making them have a really, really bad day," Ed explained, not bothering to hide the pride in his voice.

Greg returned his smile. "That he is, Ed, that he is. Let's hope we can help him out with that."

They reached the truck and entered, and quickly ran through introductions but didn't bother to reiterate what Wade and Burcell had told them; the team had been listening through the coms.

"Spike do you have a visual on Sam and the girl still? And pull up the photo he sent us to see if these Officers recognize him."

"Copy that," Spike's fingers flew. "Pulling up the live feed… and the photo." Right on cue the two images—one still, one moving—popped up on two different screens. Wade leaned in towards the photo while Burcell focused on the video. Sam and the girl were currently stopped in an aisle, obviously conversing.

"That's her. That's Elizabeth Riles, or rather, Bethany Oakes. We thought keeping her nickname the same, Libby, would make it easier on her." Burcell caught Ed's gaze. "That your man?"

Ed nodded. "Constable Sam Braddock."

"A.k.a Samtastic!" Spike interjected.

Wade and Burcell smiled at each other. They could see how close-knit this team was and how much respect they held for their teammate inside. It was written all over their faces and demonstrated in the concern they were obviously feeling. They were impressed by their ability to remain objective even though the life of their friend was currently in danger.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize this man," Wade informed them, gesturing at the photograph, "but unfortunately that doesn't surprise me. Evans wouldn't be so careless if he's gone to the trouble of such an elaborate smokescreen."

Greg couldn't hide his disappointment, any information on the subjects would help him profile—and therefore negotiate with—them, but he moved on. "All right let's get a visual on those hostages. Where are they, Spike, and how are they doing?"

"They're at the front of the store gathered in the north-west corner. There are no casualties, not in the office, or anywhere in the store… besides what Sam has caused," Spike added proudly. "The subjects are not hostile towards the hostages, but they have clearly established a form of control. I haven't seen a single hostage try to move out of line," Spike tapped the screen. "Right now there are two men up front with the hostages, and three men searching the store."

Burcell frowned. "That only adds up to five. Didn't you say there were eight who breached with two taken down by Constable Braddock?"

Spike nodded, grinning. "Sam's been busier than we thought." He zoomed into a screen that showed the second to last aisle of the store. There was a man in black with a goalie mask covering his face sprawled on the floor. "Sam struck again. They'll probably find him soon," he motioned to the three men currently searching the store, "And they'll find the guy in the office, too. So far I have been unable to locate the first man Sam took out. It's like he's just up and disappeared. Which I can imagine is freaking them out," he added, not bothering to hide his glee.

At that moment Jules, who had been keeping an eye on Sam and Libby, called out, "Hey guys, you might want to see this."

All eyes turned to that screen which showed the young girl being boosted onto the shelves by Sam, and then beginning the climb all the way to the top. Sam made no move to follow.

Wade bristled. "What the hell does he think he's doing? She could fall and break her neck and then the subjects' job would be done for them!"

Ed was about to snap at the infuriating officer, livid that he was questioning Sam's judgement, but Greg beat him to it. "Officer Wade, just what do you think is going to happen if she keeps moving around the store with an SRU officer who is most likely about to try to resolve this situation? She'll just magically not catch a bullet? I imagine by now that she's told Sam about her situation, or that he's figured it out himself, so he knows that she is who the subjects are looking for. As long as he can deprive them of their goal, they're going to be completely focused on obtaining her, rather than injuring the rest of the hostages. In the meantime, he's currently the only one who has a shot at taking these men down, and he knows it. I would typically reprimand him for taking unacceptable risks, but given the extenuating circumstances, I think I'm going to let it slide."

Suitably chastised, Wade murmured an apology, but they all let out a sigh of relief when Libby reached the top of the shelves and gave Sam a thumbs up.

"Hey Ed," Wordy called from behind them.

"Yeah Wordy?"

"I've been going over these blueprints again, now that we have a visual on the hostages, and I think I have an idea… only problem is, it's a less than an ideal idea."

"Well that's more than what we've got right now, so let's hear it."

Wordy pursed his lips but brought the blueprints forward anyway. "Okay, remember we thought the vents would be too risky? Well, the hostages' location puts them right next to a vent entry from the store on the north side, which means whoever entered through the duct would only have to go five feet in in order to get a shot. We could have an entry ready to detonate about ten feet down, that would give us immediate access to the hostages and them a way to escape. The only thing is that Sierra One would be exposed if the subjects heard him or her and there's probably time for only one shot before the other subjects realize what is happening and either shoot the vent out or shoot the hostages. So the only way this could work is if there's just one subject with the hostages… and the only way that's gonna happen is…" he was obviously reluctant to finish his idea, but Ed caught on.

"…is if Sam makes himself a target and lures them out."


	9. Chapter 8

**A.N.** Thank you, once again, to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed. I apologize for the exceedingly long delay in posting this chapter, but I won't delay you any further with a long author's note.

This chapter is very different from the rest, as I significantly changed the point of view. I personally thought it was interesting, but I'm not sure how you guys will like it. I hope you do like it, but let me know what you think!

Happy reading!

.

.

.

.

* * *

Inside the store, Zeus was _not_ happy. So many things were factoring into _why_ he was unhappy, the least pressing of which was his name. Who the hell had decided that their code names were going to be gods and titans? It had started out as a lame joke—after all, they had meticulously planned every minute of the day and had believed themselves in firm control, much like gods—but now the irony was just getting rubbed in their faces because nothing was going right today and control was quickly slipping out of their fingertips. They had been so, _so_ careful and patient in their planning. They'd watched the girl for a whole month… learned her habits, learned her routes, learned that the store would be the best place to get her, scoped the store, learned the security measures, and finally, flawlessly executed their mission. No casualties and a manageable—but significant—fifteen hostages. The only problem was, their primary objective was nowhere to be found.

They had yet to find one of the first men sent to search the store— _Apollo,_ he thought mutinously, _what a dumb name—_ they couldn't find the girl, Atlas was also missing, the rest of his crew was getting anxious, and now Hermes had been heard screaming. Things couldn't get any worse… or so he thought, until Kronos informed him that they no longer had access to the store's video cameras. Someone had tampered with them and just shut down their access.

"Dammit!" he yelled, sweeping papers off of the counter to his right, causing several of the hostages to cringe. _Surely_ _ **now**_ _things can't get any worse!_

His burner phone rang. "WHAT!?" he answered angrily.

"Zeus! Zeus!" a voice crackled in from the other side. "We've got Atlas! He's unconscious, man! Trying to wake him up now!"

Zeus frowned angrily. They'd been suspicious that there was a customer who had gone rogue— _trying to be a hero… idiot_ , he grumbled—ever since Apollo had gone missing and that SRU sergeant called, but now they had confirmation. Someone was sabotaging their mission. "Well get him up and get his ass back here to explain himself!"

As soon as he hung up, his phone started ringing again. This time it was news on Hermes. "I found Hermes, Zeus, he's in the office… Shit he's been beat to hell. His arm's broken, man! Snapped in half!"

Zeus closed his eyes in an effort to keep the headache that was rearing its ugly head at bay. He swore vehemently. "Splint it and get him here, and then find whoever the hell is screwing with us!"

"Splint it with what, man? We've got nothing!"

"Find something!" he roared, viciously ending the call.

He turned to face the remaining member of his crew, and was met with a cold stare. If Zeus was honest with himself, Ares freaked him out just a little. He never lost his cool, never had any emotions on his face, and he was one cold blooded killer. "More trouble?" Ares demanded.

"They found Atlas and Hermes," he responded shortly, offering no other details.

Ares shrugged and waited for the rest of their comrades to arrive. Both groups arrived at the same time, one in a flurry of moans and curses, the other in subdued silence.

Once Hermes had been settled on the floor and had quieted, Zeus surveyed both of the men. Atlas' nose had obviously been bleeding and his face was already turning a nasty shade of purple, his wind pipe was beginning to bruise and he was cradling his right hand close to his chest, probably protecting the hand or his ribs… or both. Hermes looked even worse. The side of his head was covered in blood, and he was cradling his obviously broken arm close to his chest, whimpering. Zeus turned away in disgust before demanding, "What the hell happened to you two?! You're trained professionals! How the hell did a single customer take you down without either of you firing a single shot?!" Normally their team was more cohesive, as they had been in the initial assault, but now the stress of their plans falling through and the injuries and disappearance of one of their comrades was beginning to break down their well-oiled machine.

Hermes' only response was a moan of pain, but Atlas grimaced and steeled himself. "This guy wasn't just some customer… he must be military or something. I've never seen a man move that fast! He took me down like I was a breeze! I didn't get a single hit in on him," he explained hoarsely. He was not ashamed at his failing, because he truly felt that this man way outmatched him. He held up his hand. "He broke my finger and damn near crushed my windpipe with only a punch! Took me down in less than a minute."

Zeus shook his head in disgust, causing the other man to bristle. "Think you could've done better?" Atlas demanded.

His scornful silence was answer enough.

Atlas got right up in his face and growled, "You just remember that when _you_ have to go up against this man. He's a damn nightmare that's infected our operation!"

Zeus dismissed Atlas' warning—he'd never been very impressed by the man—and instead he turned his ire on Hermes. He kicked the man's leg. "How about you? What's your explanation?"

Hermes moaned again but managed to straighten into a more upright position. His face was pale and clammy, and Zeus was honestly surprised the man hadn't passed out again. "He-h-he's w-with the g-g-girl," he stammered.

Zeus frowned. "Say that again?"

"The girl is with him, dammit!" Hermes shouted angrily, a burst of energy lending his voice volume.

Conflicting emotions rose in the leader. He was relieved to confirm that their target was actually within the store limits, but the fact that she was with this rogue customer was cause for considerable concern. "Well good, at least we know she's here," he stated, trying to rally his men. "The plan hasn't failed; all we need to do is find her!"

Atlas snorted, causing the rest of the crew—who had remained silent up to this point—to shift nervously on their feet as they sensed brewing discontent. Ares just looked on with mild amusement.

Zeus whirled around and grabbed Atlas' shirt, yanking him close. "You want to run that by me again?" He snarled.

The other man stared defiantly into his so called leader's eyes. "'All we need to do is find her?'" He repeated Zeus' words. "You make it sound like a cake walk! I don't think you fully appreciate just how hard that might be! Not only is this her home turf—and since we didn't grab her the moment we breeched she's had plenty of time to hide—but she's got some damn guardian angel looking out for her now! You can scoff and yell at us and call us incompetent, but the fact of the matter is, if _you_ go up against this guy, I'm not 100% sure you would actually come out the victor!"

Zeus glared at the man in cold fury. He'd never been spoken to like this from one of his men in all of their years of operating together! He could see the other men beginning to become uncertain, and knew he had to reassert his control. "Congratulations, Atlas, you just earned yourself the honor of redemption. Take Hades and Helios and go find this son of a bitch and put him down!" He pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the rebellious man. "Or I can save you the trouble and end your 'nightmare' right here!"

There was a moment of silence before Atlas dropped his eyes and turned away, calling for the two men to follow him back out into the store.

Zeus turned back to his remaining men, catching the eyes of Kronos and Ares. Kronos turned away, returning his attention to the hostages who had remained silent throughout the exchange, but Ares returned Zeus' gaze. The coldness of those eyes made him shudder inside. He looked away. "Now we wait."

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

If Atlas was honest with himself, he was nervous. Extremely nervous. Around every corner he expected the blonde man to leap out and attack him, leaving him helpless and defeated. He was somewhat comforted by the presence of the two men at his back, though his injuries made him wince with every step, a reminder of how vulnerable he was. He'd made the executive decision to stick together because, though they'd cover less ground this way, there was strength in numbers. So far that rogue customer had had no trouble taking out a single man on his own… Atlas was hoping three would be too much for him to handle.

They were moving down the north side of the store, headed for the alcove that Hades had seen earlier and thought would be a good hiding spot, when Atlas' worst fears were realized. Seemingly from out of nowhere the blue-eyed man materialized at Atlas' right shoulder. Before he could react, the man struck out with his right foot, connecting with Atlas' already weakened right hand—which was currently supporting the hand which carried his gun—causing him to cry out and drop the gun, which went spinning into the wall. The blond man then grabbed Atlas' still outstretched arm and flung him into Hades, behind him. The breath left him as he collided with the floor, his legs tangled with Hades', and it took him a few moments for him to be able to move again. In that short amount of time, Hades struggled to get back to his feet as the man moved forward to engage Helios.

Helios had not been able to fire his gun without the risk of striking Atlas, and by the time Atlas had been taken out of play and he was free to fire, the blond man was already upon him. Rather than suffer the same fate as his comrade, he dropped the gun before the man could strike his hand, which caught the man off guard. Using this small moment of advantage to its fullest, Helios used the momentum of the man's strike against his hand to spin around and complete a roundhouse kick into the man's torso with a resounding crack followed by a sharp exhalation. The rogue dropped to the floor and Helios smiled in smug satisfaction. What was so frightening about this guy? He'd gone down easily enough. Fully expecting this to have incapacitated the man, he was astonished when the man's legs swept out and yanked Helios' feet from under him, sending _him_ crashing to the floor. His breath left him with a "woosh" and he was paralyzed, helpless to stop the man from striking him in the temple, sending him to oblivion.

Hades had regained his feet by this time and, having maintained his grip on his gun, open fired on the blond man who had just single handedly taken them all down in a matter of moments. His hands were shaking from the fall and with adrenaline, and the man quickly dove around the shelves, disappearing down an aisle. Hades cursed and rushed forward, rounding the corner into the aisle where he was surprised to see the man standing just a few feet away, holding a gun. Hades pulled the trigger once more on his gun, and two resounding "BANGS" echoed through the store.

Hades was propelled backwards as a bullet struck him in his left knee. He screamed in agony; leg crumpling beneath him, he hit the floor hard. Clutching at his shattered leg he screamed again, this time in rage as he looked up and saw that the blond man had vanished without a trace.

Atlas had finally gotten his wind back and was on his feet when he heard the yell of pain. He hoped that it was the blond man and that they had finally taken him down, but his hopes were dashed when he rounded the corner into the aisle and encountered Hades on the ground clutching his left knee and screaming in agony.

"Where is he?!" Atlas yelled at the downed man, quickly dropping down beside him and shedding his jacket in order to stop the bleeding.

"Gone! He's gone! This man's a damn ghost!" Hades roared in fury, trying to mask the fear he was feeling. How could they possibly hope to succeed with this man still out there?

"Did you hit him?" Atlas demanded, praying that the answer was yes.

"I don't know! I don't know, dammit!"

"Keep pressure on that," Atlas instructed, guiding Hades' hand down to his jacket which was now pressed against his knee. He stood slowly and moved hesitantly down the aisle. They had begun the mission with eight men and now, because of one man, they were down to only four. Twice he had encountered the man—the 'ghost,' as Hades had dubbed him—and twice Atlas had failed to mount any offensive against him. Fear and doubt that they would not successfully complete their mission was now truly making its way into his mind. After all, even if they did find the girl and kill her, there was no way the SRU was going to let them walk out of the store freemen. This ghost had cost them too much time. He reached a spot a little ways down the aisle and, looking down, smiled for the first time since this whole mess had started. There was blood splattered on the floor.

* * *

.

.

.

.

 **A.N.2.** To anyone wondering why Sam didn't just shoot the guys, I'll explain his thought process in the next chapter.


	10. Chapter 9

**A.N.** You guys continue to blow me away with your support! Thank you everyone!

Special thanks venetiaj who gave a little idea for some dialogue to add to this chapter a few reviews ago... No it totally isn't fair for Sam to be doing all of the work! That will change shortly though.

garb50, yes I would want to have a guardian angel like Sam, too! Though I dearly hope I am NEVER in this kind of situation... as fun as it is to write, it would be terrifying.

Thank you also to missblueeyes63, Buckeye am I, Everlost101, 4 Guests, Roseiibabii, SerenityKieraSilverwind,aesir21, and Cynthia.

I'm glad you all liked the different point of view! It was a fun, interesting challenge for me :) Hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

* * *

The moment the bullet pierced Sam's left shoulder, he knew his time was up. He'd given up stealth the moment the man had fired at him, forcing him to dive into the aisle and allowing him to pull his confiscated gun, but now it was well and truly time to go on the offensive… just as soon as he regrouped and confirmed he was not about to pass out.

Up until this point his injuries had been relatively minor. The crease to his side had stopped bleeding due to Libby's careful ministrations, and the slash to his chest was long but not deep. A painful annoyance, but not life threatening. The kick he had taken to his chest had cracked a couple of ribs, but they were not broken… yet. The hit to his shoulder was another story. While he could immediately tell it had only torn through muscle and had fortunately left his collarbone intact, it was causing him to lose blood at a rate more rapid than he was comfortable with.

His own shot hit true, shattering the gunman's knee and effectively incapacitating him without killing him. Once the gunman's eyes were not on him and instead were squeezed shut in agony as he fell to the ground, Sam focused on disappearing. As he fled to the end of the aisle, ducking around the corner and continuing down the row towards the back of the store, he used his right hand to stem the bleeding as best he could—no matter how well he hid, it wouldn't matter if he left a trail leading straight to him. When he was about three quarters of the way back, he ducked right, heading towards the south side, as far away from the group of gunmen he'd just taken out as he could get. It was the logical place that they would next search for him—prey always tried to get as far away as possible—but he could worry about that later. For now it would buy him much needed time.

He settled against the outer store wall, sinking down to a seated position and allowed himself one small sigh, his ribs aching with every breath. _Of all the days you could have chosen to shop for Wordy's daughter,_ he thought to himself, _you had to choose today, Sam. Good job_. The party wasn't for another week and a half, he'd had plenty of time, but he had decided that today would be perfect. He wished he'd chosen any other day but today. _No you don't,_ he admitted. _If you hadn't been here, Libby would be dead._ No matter the cost to himself, he was glad that thus far he'd been able to prevent that from happening.

Closing his eyes he used his right hand to assess the damage to his left shoulder, trying to determine the extent of the injury and he couldn't stop a hiss of pain from escaping his mouth. He mentally cursed his decision to avoid a kill shot, but only half-heartedly. In truth he was glad he hadn't had to kill the man. After all, though he knew their intent was to assassinate Libby, thus far they hadn't killed anyone. In his days in the military, that distinction wouldn't have mattered, but he'd left the military and joined the SRU for a reason: to save lives, not take them if at all avoidable. Instead he'd chosen to waste precious seconds aiming at the man's knee in order to avoid killing him, which gave the man just enough time to aim at Sam.

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, he focused on the more pressing matter of dealing with his shoulder. While not immediately life threatening, it was serious nonetheless and needed to be taken care of. He'd chosen his current location strategically because this was where, according to Libby's map, the first aid supplies were. He didn't have time for anything fancy, but he needed to stop the bleeding as best he could. Locating the gauze—conveniently right next to him so he didn't have to move—he worked quickly to wrap the material tightly around his shoulder over his t-shirt, tying it off as best he could with just one hand. He gave himself five breaths to collect himself, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out the burner phone. He dialed the number he knew by heart.

It didn't even finish its first ring when a familiar voice yelled out, "Sam! Samo please tell me that's you, buddy! If it's not and this is some damn prank caller I swear I am going to hunt you down and make you regret the day you dialed this number!"

Sam smiled at the man's outburst. "Yeah, Ed, it's me. Though I wouldn't mind if you hunted me down and got us all the hell out of here," he admitted quietly, trying to keep his voice light and sarcastic… worried he had failed.

"Damn it is good to hear your voice, Sam. Where are you? What happened? Are you okay? We saw you go after those three guys and take them down, but then you disappeared."

Sam frowned in confusion. "Didn't Spike get the feeds I sent him? Can't you see the store through the video cameras?"

"Yeah, Sam, we can," Greg called— _I must be on speaker phone,_ Sam thought distantly. "We saw you take three subjects down, saw one of them chase you into the aisle and aim at you, saw him go down and you run, and then you just dropped off the cameras. Nice job, Sam, that was really well executed. Not sure if I would have been able to make that shot myself given the circumstances. Where are you? Are you hit?"

Sam debated for a moment whether or not he should disclose the full extent of his injuries, his pride and military training rearing its head, before he ultimately decided that Greg and the rest of the team had a right to know, especially if he was to be of any further use to them. "Uh, I'm okay, but yeah, I'm hit." He heard the team's collective indrawn breath so he rushed to continue. "Not gonna lie to you, it hurts like hell but it's a through and through in my left shoulder. Didn't hit bone."

He heard a muttered curse word or two in the background, but he couldn't pick out who had uttered them. He wouldn't have been surprised if it was everyone. This situation sucked.

"You just have all the luck, don't you Samo?" Ed demanded, trying to lighten the mood. Normally Sam would play along, but fatigue was beginning to pull at him.

"Not feeling too lucky right now, Ed," he confessed.

There was a moment of silence from the other end. _Shit,_ Sam cursed in his head. _Did I really just say that out loud? Now they're gonna be doubly worried._

Greg obviously had decided it would be best not to pursue the matter further and drill him on questions of his injury, for which Sam was grateful. "Can you tell us where you are, Sam? We still can't find you."

This continued to confuse Sam. Why couldn't they find him? And more curiously, why hadn't they seen his mad dash through the store? His tired mind raced to find an explanation, and then it hit him: he'd been avoiding the cameras. Not consciously, but it was a skill so ingrained in his brain that in active situations during which stealth was key, he just did it without thinking. Even now he could see he was sitting directly in a blind spot. "Uh, sorry guys. I guess I've been staying in the blind spots. Didn't even realize I was doing it. I'm on the south wall about three quarters of the way back from the front."

"Is Bethany Oakes with you?" an unfamiliar, slightly hostile voice demanded.

Sam stiffened. His entire demeanor changed as he pushed all fatigue and emotion from his voice, dropping the friendly communication he shared with his teammates. He was willing to be honest with his teammates, but throw a stranger in the mix and no way was he giving away anything about his own wellbeing. "Who wants to know?"

"Just answer the question Constable! We've worked too long on this case for it to go to waste now because of some upstart, cocky SRU officer who thinks he can be a hero!"

Sam's jaw clenched as he fought back the words he wanted to throw in this stranger's face. His self-control was obviously better than Ed's, because he heard a metallic slam—presumably a fist landing on a surface in the truck—followed by Ed yelling, "Officer Wade! Sergeant Parker has already rebuked you for questioning the actions of Constable Braddock! He doesn't tell people off twice because after the first time it's my turn and I give a whole hell of a lot worse than just a few words! You have no jurisdiction here while this is an active hostage situation! If you cannot either keep your mouth shut or remain respectful and only speak when you have something useful to add, you will physically be forced to leave the premises!"

Sam smiled faintly at Ed's words, his heart warming. He was about to thank the older man and to respond to the initial question when he shifted without thinking, sending pain lancing through his shoulder and ribs. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood in order to avoid crying out, both to avoid detection by the subjects and to avoid further worrying his teammates; there was nothing they could do for him right now anyway. It took him several breaths to get himself back under control and he was worried that they would notice his silence, but when he tuned back into the conversation, he heard that they were finishing up the argument and he heard the stranger say curtly, "Apologies, Constable Braddock. We saw you help Ms. Oakes onto the shelves but have no angle from which we can see her. Is she still on top of the shelves or is she with you?"

"To my knowledge she is still on top of the shelves. She is not with me," he replied shortly.

"Okay Sam, we know time is running out for everyone," Ed spoke quickly. He didn't expressly say "you," but Sam knew he was thinking it. "Wordy has a plan." Sam heard Wordy's muttered "can we even qualify it as a plan?" in the background, before Ed continued, "And we're gonna run it by you, because it requires you, and if you're not up to it, Sam, just say the word. No one expects more of you. You've done amazingly already." Ed's voice was warm and filled with pride, causing Sam to work very hard not to lose the control he was hanging onto with every ounce of willpower he had left. He was scared and he was tired and he just wanted this to end, but there was no way he was going to admit that to his team in front of strangers. Ed's kind words and implicit trust mixed with all of those other emotions caused a lump to form in his throat.

Pushing that aside he replied, "I can do it, Ed. We both know I'm the person in the best position to change things. Just what exactly am I going to be doing?"

"Well, we've got a possible way to neutralize one of the subjects guarding the hostages in the front of the store and an entry point… but we can only neutralize one subject. Which means we need you—" Ed paused, and Sam wasn't sure exactly why. He was sure if he weren't so damn tired he would have figured it out already… _That's not good,_ he thought miserably, _blood loss must be getting to me._ "We need you to get the rest of the subjects to leave the hostages and enter the back half of store."

 _Oh._ "You need me to bait them."

"Yeah, Sam buddy," Ed told him regretfully, "that's what we need you to do. I know it's completely unfair of us to ask you to do more because heck, you've done all of the work already and I feel like we've just sat here, but this is the only thing we can think of."

Sam closed his eyes. Truthfully he'd known he wasn't done, but he realized that subconsciously he'd hoped that now he was talking to his team that they'd be able to take things from here. He let out one sigh before steeling himself. "I can do that. How much time do you need?"

"As long as you can give us, but three minutes is probably safe."

Three minutes. Such a short amount of time, but right now it seemed like an interminable age.

"Okay. How long do you need to set up?"

He heard brief conferring between his teammates, before Ed came back with "Let's say ten minutes, okay? And Sam?" Ed paused. "You can do this. I'll see you when this is all over after you have royally kicked their asses. That's a promise."

Sam grinned tiredly. "Copy that. I'll wave at a camera when I'm starting. But first, what can you tell me about these guys? How many of them are there?"


	11. Chapter 10

**A.N.** Sorry this took so long! Thank you thank you THANK you to those of you who kept prodding me to continue! You helped tremendously in keeping myself motivated. I won't delay you with a long author's note, just know that I appreciate ALL of you guys' views, reviews, follows, and favs.

Here it is! I hope you enjoy!  
.

.

.

.

* * *

Sam hung up with the team after getting as much information as he needed in the short amount of time they spoke. Speaking with them had been wonderful, but now that the conversation was over, the magnitude of his solitude invaded… He forced that away.

 _So, how do I draw the remaining four guys out?_ He needed to get all of them to come to him, ideally leaving the man with the broken arm to cover the hostages. The obvious answer was to get Libby, as she was who they were after, but no way in hell was he going to do that. He grimaced. It was hard to think with his shoulder throbbing and each breath sending shooting pain through his ribs. He was very much concerned that it would not take much for them to break, which would not be good. _Hello understatement._

Slowing his breathing down, he concentrated on each individual breath. Gradually, he focused solely on the beat of his heart, pushing all thoughts of pain and fatigue from his body. He wouldn't be able to keep up this charade and fool his body for long, but maybe for just long enough.

Brain no longer shrieking at him to stay still to avoid further injury, he tried to focus on the task at hand. Libby was not an option, though he was sure they would come running if they thought they could get her. But… his plan fell into place. He was pretty sure he had become a close second to Libby in their desire to kill him, given how difficult he was making their job. If one of the men he'd taken down earlier was still in the aisle, he hoped to isolate him and force him to call his comrades, pretending like he'd caught Sam. Perfect. Now to execute the plan… and executing the plan required getting up, a task he most certainly was not looking forward to.

He was able to delay that momentous task a moment longer, however, by calling Spike to have him look at the cameras and tell him where the men were.

"Hey Samtastic, how ya holdin' up?" Spike asked in a strained cheery voice.

"Oh, you know. Little pain, lot of whining, nothing to worry about," Sam replied in an effort to match the Italian's attempt at lightheartedness.

There was a snort from the other end.

"What, you don't believe me?" Sam demanded good naturedly, relieved for the momentary banter that gave him a reprieve from this hellish situation. "Us Braddock's, we've got the reputation of being pretty badass."

"I wouldn't know about the Braddock's, but of you I have no doubt. I've seen your badassness firsthand, Sam. I can honestly say I'm very glad I'm not one of the guys about to be on the receiving end of your ire," Spike told him.

"Thanks, Spike," Sam smiled, grateful for the unwavering confidence that his friend had in him, and glad that his friend could not currently see him, because he was pretty sure if Spike could, he would have a different opinion on Sam's ability to be badass. "I need your help, though."

"Anything for you, Samtastic, so long as you give me proper recognition. After that stunt you pulled with the camera feeds I'm feeling a little useless around here."

"Nah, Spike, you're indispensable. Don't know what we'd do without you. This instance just called for an inside man."

There was a moment of silence, so Sam rushed on. "I need you to tell me where all the subjects are. Most importantly, if any of the three men I just took down are still out in the store."

"Can do, just give me a moment… ah! Okay one guys is still out cold—damn, Sam, how hard can you punch? Uh, the guy you shot is still down, but sitting against the shelves, and the third guy is apparently tending to him. Looks pretty jumpy. Think you've given him a bit of a fright," Spike informed him, not trying to hide his glee.

"I should hope so… I've gone to enough trouble," he muttered under his breath.

"Wait a minute, that guy is moving now. He's leaving his buddy behind and moving south along the aisle, pretty slowly."

"Okay good. Perfect. Keep me apprised of his location, but don't worry if I'm not responding or if I hang up. I'm going to isolate him."

"Copy that. Good luck, Sam!"

"Thanks." Putting the phone on mute so Spike wouldn't hear him if he was unable to hold back a groan when he got to his feet, he prepared himself for that difficult task. A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he delayed getting up for just a moment longer by scribbling a few things on the piece of paper Libby had given to him. It gave him a small amount of hope, knowing that he was promising himself he would give this to her which meant she was going to get out of here.

The time had come, however, for him to go vertical. No more delays. Easing his right hand down to the floor he tipped forward and gathered his feet beneath him. Closing his eyes, he pushed off of the ground, let his hand find the shelves to his right to pull himself up, and suddenly he was standing. He gave himself exactly ten seconds to find his equilibrium, long enough to adjust but not long enough to dwell on the fire the movement had ignited in his shoulder, side, and ribs. No, he was not thinking about those things. He did consider fashioning a sling of some sort to stabilize his left arm, but knew he was going to need the arm to be mobile, even if it might cause further damage.

As he opened his eyes, he allowed all extraneous thoughts to flow out of his mind, leaving only the task at hand. Pain was irrelevant. The reason these gunmen were here was not currently important. The fact that they held fifteen hostages was not his concern right now. Everything was gone except for the fact that he needed to bring the rest of the subjects out into the store. Okay… well almost everything was gone. He tucked the fact that his team was outside ready to back him up in a corner of his brain, and he refused to forget that Libby was still waiting for him… counting on him to make her safe again.

On automatic pilot, he checked each of his three confiscated handguns, cataloguing seventeen rounds of ammunition, careful with the use of his left arm. Two of them he tucked away, keeping out only one. With a firm mask of composure on his face, he stepped out of the cameras' blindspots, knowing the moment he did, Spike's eyes would be on him, assessing. He moved down the aisle way, listening to Spike's voice telling him the position of the subject still moving in the store as he went. When he was standing two aisles away from where the man was, he hung up on Spike, needing both hands for what he was about to do.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint...)

Atlas was terrified. Well and truly terrified, and he was even more terrified that he was freely admitting it to himself now. It meant that he really didn't think he was walking out of this job a winner. His momentary victory of seeing the blood splatter and knowing Hades had hit the rogue had been immediately crushed by Hades' continued moans, making Atlas suddenly acutely aware of his vulnerability and isolation in the middle of the store. He had hastened back to his comrades side, pressing his jacket into the wound, before being forced to answer his burner phone.

"What the hell happened out there!?" came Zeus' angry demand.

"Uh… We found him."

"And?!"

"And he's gone."

"Well good. Now get your asses in gear and find that girl!"

"No, I mean he's gone. Disappeared. He attacked us, took down Helios and Hades—though Hades managed to clip him—and now he's vanished," Atlas had rushed to explain, cringing at the response he expected.

"WHAT!? Never in our years of working together has an operation gone this sideways! Fix it! He's injured, so you shouldn't have that much trouble! And be quick about it. We're running out of time. I don't know how much longer I can stall the SRU!"

"Wh—wait what? You want me to go after him alone after he took down three of us?"

"You heard me. Do that, or don't come back." The call ended.

That had been five minutes ago. Now Atlas was all alone, moving through this gigantic, eerily silent store and once again expecting the rogue to pop out around every corner. He was making his way towards the south wall, reasoning that that was the farthest from the attack's location and therefore the most likely place the man would flee to, and had just entered a new aisle when he felt the unmistakable sensation of a gun being placed to the back of his head. He froze. _No. NO! This is not happening to me! How the hell did he sneak up on me? He's got to be a damn ghost!_ These fevered thoughts flew through his mind as a deadly quiet voice told him, "Make a sound and you die. Move and I'll kill you. Run and I'll shoot—I don't miss."

Too frozen with fear to resist, he just stood there stupidly.

"Good." The voice gave him chills. "Put the gun on the floor, slowly, then stand back up."

Horrified, he felt himself complying, relinquishing his grasp on the one thing that might save him. The moment he straightened, an arm snaked around his body and snapped his right hand in handcuffs. His arm was pulled behind his back, quickly followed by his left, which was then cuffed to his right, and then he was turned around to finally face the man that had caused him and his companions so much grief in the last few hours, getting his first good look at him. The first time he'd seen him had been such a quick encounter that he'd barely registered what the man looked like, and the second time he hadn't been positioned right. The ghost was definitely a little worse for wear—Atlas could see a make shift bandage encasing his left shoulder and he looked a little pale—but when he met the man's gaze, he shuddered; there was nothing there but an icy detachment mixed with hardened determination.

His nightmare was before him.

"Now," the ghost told him in a level, terrifyingly calm voice, "You are going to do exactly as I say, or you can join your partner in using a wheelchair for the rest of your life."


	12. Chapter 11

**A.N.** I am thrilled that you all liked the previous chapter! It was so fun (but also terrifying) to write. Fun because I love making Sam awesome, and terrifying because I worry that I am not doing him justice. But I'm glad that he came off sufficiently badass and scary! He's not done yet, though... I'm afraid I have more difficulties to put him through. But just one more chapter and he'll be reunited with the team!

Thank you all for your continued support and gentle prompts of updating! Never in my wildest dreams did I EVER imagine that this story would make it past 100 reviews. You guys are just as amazing as Sam! I want to let you guys know that I am never, EVER giving up on or abandoning this story. Not gonna happen. I know that may not mean much because there have been some great stories I have read in which the author promises not to stop and then does, but that won't happen here. Yes I can be terrible about making you guys wait excessive amounts of time between chapters, but I'm not going to just let this collect virtual dust. We're getting towards the end of the story (wonderfully, but sadly at the same time), and I have it mostly all thought out, it's just a matter of translating it to the written word and making sure it makes sense :)

And now, enjoy!

.

.

.

.

* * *

The moment Sam hung up, Team One leapt into action. Spike stayed in the truck to monitor the situation in order to let the rest of the team know when to move, and Wordy, Ed, Greg and Jules all rushed to get the necessary equipment before making a beeline for the store that gave them access to The Oakes' north wall.

"Sergeant Parker!" Burcell shouted after them as they were about to enter the mall.

Greg turned and waited for the two men to catch up. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that time is of the essence," he told them, not bothering to conceal his impatience.

"No, you don't. But so are numbers. Let us come in with you. We'll follow your lead, bring up the rear, listen to orders, whatever. Surely you could use two extra pairs of hands?"

He considered for a brief moment before giving a short nod. "Vest up, gear up, grab shields, and meet us at the entry point a.s.a.p."

By the time the Sergeant caught back up with the rest of his team, they were already at the entry point and Jules was beginning to make her way into her sierra position in the vent.

He caught his Team Leader's eye. "We all set?"

Ed nodded down towards Wordy who was finishing affixing the explosive device to the wall. "Just about."

Ed's gaze held his, and Greg saw his own fear reflected back in the Team Lead's eyes. _There are so many ways this could go terribly wrong. If more than one subject stays behind, we won't be able to breach and Sam is screwed…_

Clasping Ed on the shoulder (for whose support, he wasn't entirely sure), he pulled himself together and addressed Jules. "Sierra One, status?"

"In position," Jules' whisper came over the coms. "Four subjects still in range. I have the solution. I also have a shot that will incapacitate but not kill one of the subjects."

"Copy that, Jules. Stand by. Spike, what's going on in there?"

"Sam's making his move but hasn't given us the signal. You guys all set? Because you're going to need to move the moment they're outta there; the shorter amount of time Sam's dealing with them, the better."

"I know, Spike," Greg reassured the Italian. "Just let us know the moment Sam has engaged and the subjects are a safe distance from the hostages. The timing has to be perfect." He hated to wait until Sam was actively combatting the subjects, but otherwise he was worried they would turn back at the sound of Jules' shot and not give the SRU enough time to breach safely.

"Copy that."

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Sam watched carefully as the man dialed a number on his burner phone with shaking hands. Two rings were heard before a sharp voice rang out, "What?!"

The man met Sam's eyes and Sam nodded for him to say what he'd been instructed. "I've found him," he started.

"FINALLY!" Came the roar from the other end.

The man winced but continued, "I've only got a limited visual of him, and given how easily this guy has dealt with us before, I'm going to need help taking him. Probably from all of you, seeing as he took out three of us no problem, but now that he's injured, I think four will be too much for him. He's towards the middle of the store in aisle ten, beyond the men's clothing area."

"Just shoot him!"

Sam held his breath. This was the tipping point. If the other subjects didn't believe their comrade, then this whole plan was worthless. "Can't do that," the man replied. "I don't have the right angle and if I move in order to get it, I think he's going to realize I'm here. If you approach through the clothing, he shouldn't be able to see you. I'll meet you on the other side at the end of aisle eight and we'll take him together."

There was a moment of silence and then muffled voices as it sounded like the man consulted the rest of the subjects. "All right. Hermes is with it enough to handle the hostages. We're coming to you." The call ended.

"Good job," Sam told the subject before him. The man looked at him with a glimmer of hope in his eyes and Sam almost felt bad for him… almost. But then he recalled the small part of his brain that retained the knowledge that this man had come to kill Libby, and it became no problem for him to slip his arm around the man's neck in a choke-hold. It took several moments for the man to go limp, and then several seconds longer for Sam to be sure the man was actually out and not just faking it, before letting the man slide to the ground. Holding the man had aggravated Sam's shoulder, and he grimaced as it angrily told him so with sharp bursts of pain. But it had gotten the job done quickly and quietly. Drawing in a breath to steady himself, he waved up at a camera.

He tucked the man in an open space in the shelves, out of sight unless a person walked down that particular aisle, then quickly worked his way into the clothing racks of the men's section. He couldn't predict the precise path the subjects would take, but he knew where they were headed and what their rough approach would be. As such, he took a leaf out of Libby's book; there were no floor length dresses, so long pants would have to do. He found a circular stand right by the entrance to aisle eight and worked his way inside, careful not to let any blood rub off on the outside, though he was afraid that some of the pants towards the inside would be ruined forever. _They better not bill me..._ he thought to himself. _Hiding in a bunch of pants… never thought that would be my go to cover._ His lips curled up in a hint of a smile.

All thoughts of amusement vanished from his head as he heard the first sign of footsteps approaching and readied himself for what was to come.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

"There's the wave, we're a go. The subjects are gathering and preparing to leave," Spike informed them over the coms.

From her position in the vent Jules could see three of the subjects clearly about to go after Sam. It was with a mixture of great relief and trepidation that she realized they had decided to leave the subject with the broken arm back to guard the hostages, just as Team One had hoped they would, leaving three well-armed, able bodied men to hunt down Sam.

"Okay Jules, on Spike's signal you are cleared to fire," Greg's calm voice told her. "If you have the solution, you have scorpio. If you have a less lethal option and you are confident you can make it work, take that. I do not have a visual of the situation, so the final choice is yours."

Jules took a deep, steadying breath before replying, "Copy that."

She focused in on the subject left behind as the remaining three left the area. He had struggled to his feet and held a gun with his good arm, his broken one cradled carefully against his body. He was not aiming the gun at the hostages, it remained pointed at the floor. With a silent prayer that this would work, she moved her aim from his forehead to his non-broken fore-arm. If both of his arms were out of commission, then he wouldn't be able to fire on the hostages. She inhaled three times and let out a final breath, allowing her body to become absolutely still as she waited for Spike's signal which she knew would be coming momentarily. She allowed herself one small moment of useless wishing… wishing that it was Sam here taking this shot for two reasons: one because she knew there was no way he would miss, and two because it would mean he was not about to engage three hostile subjects while he was already injured.

"And, execute!" Spike sounded clearly over the coms.

She fired.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Due to his position, Sam could not see the men approaching, but he could hear three distinct footstep patterns. _Good,_ he thought to himself, _that means things are finally going our way and Team One will be able to breach_. He kept listening intensely and couldn't believe it when he heard the footsteps separate, parting around the very clothing rack in which he was hiding. _Finally, a bit of luck on this unlucky day._ One set of footsteps went right, the other two went left.

He gathered himself, preparing to take on the solo person first, when he heard the distant gunshot that he dearly hoped was his team. _Time to go_. He launched himself out of the clothing rack, tackling the man in front of him and taking him totally by surprise. That allowed him to quickly disarm the man and strike him in the temple with the butt of a gun, neutralizing him. In the distance he heard a loud "BANG," that he once again hoped was his team entering the store. _You're so close. Stay focused._

The other two men rounded the clothing rack from opposite sides. Looking left, Sam saw one of them aim and begin to pull the trigger to their gun, so he dove forward desperately, tucking into a roll as a deafening "BANG" shot behind him, followed by a yell. His shoulder jarred in protest as it took the brunt of his fall, and his ribs shrieked. Completing the roll in a crouch, he whipped around to face the man that had just fired the gun and shot the subject without hesitation. He would not kill these men in cold blood, but when it came down to his life or theirs, there was no question. The man collapsed and would not be getting up… Sam didn't miss. He had just enough time to realize the yell had been the third subject getting hit in the arm—causing him to drop his gun—by the bullet that had been meant for Sam, before that man tackled him.

Sam grunted in pain as his gun flew from his hands and he was knocked onto his back roughly, getting struck twice in the face before he could draw enough breath to protect himself. Raising his good arm in defense, he blocked the next blow and pulled his knees up to his chest, throwing the other man off of him. Gathering every reserve of strength he had left, he leapt to his feet quickly and moved into a defensive position opposite the subject. He met the man's gaze and had to force himself not to shudder; the man's eyes were dead. Ruthless. There was nothing there. Despite the blood oozing from the man's arm, his mouth quirked up in a humorless smile.

Before Sam could reach for his second gun, the other man was upon him. The man rained down a flurry of strikes that Sam was able to block for the most part, before the subject landed a lucky punch directly to Sam's injured shoulder. He couldn't stifle the howl of pain that escaped him at the contact which sent fire shooting down his arm and torso, and his eyesight failed him for a few crucial moments. When the white hot veil of pain receded from his eyes and he was finally able to see again, he was met with the sight of the man's foot snapping out to connect with Sam's chest. Too late to evade, all Sam could do was absorb the hit and use it to put as much distance between him and the subject as possible. As the foot collided with his sternum, the power of it hurled Sam backwards to slam on his back. He felt the breath leave his body and heard a crack from his already weakened ribs. The distance between him and the subject now made it possible for Sam to grab his second gun, but it also gave the subject time to scoop up his own discarded weapon. Sam grasped the gun, raised his arms, aimed and fired. Two shots reverberated in echoes through the store.

* * *

.

.

.

.

 **A.N.2.** Yup. That's where I'm going to leave you... eternal apologies! I still hope you enjoyed the chapter, though I recognize it was another short one :)


	13. Chapter 12

**A.N.** This chapter took me so long to write/post because 1) it's long, and 2) it is a really, really important chapter to me and I wanted to get it right. Not sure I did, but I'm not going to make you guys wait any longer. So while yes, I was cruel and left you with that awful cliffhanger last chapter (... sorry! Not really...), here's an extra-long chapter that I hope is at least somewhat satisfying!

In response to a Guest review, I am sorry but I cannot promise to stop leaving you guys with cliffhangers because that's where my stories make the most sense to pause :) Also, I have not begun formulating my next Flashpoint story-though I promise to give one of the prompts I received in an earlier review a go-so please feel free to share your own requests and ideas! It's always helpful to get fresh eyes/possibilities and to know what you guys are looking for.

So glad I'm still able to keep you guys interested, and thank you all again for your continued support! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

.

.

.

.

* * *

The moment they cleared the breached wall, there was nothing Ed wanted to do more than head straight for Sam with all haste. Duty called first, though, so it was with great self-control that he went about the job of clearing and securing the scene, determined that they would do it as quickly and carefully as possible. Wheeling to the right, Ed led Greg, Wordy, Wade and Burcell into the area where the hostages were being held.

"Police Strategic Response Unit, hands in the air! I repeat, hands in the air!" he shouted, scanning the group for the remaining subject. He found the man writhing on the floor, screaming incoherently, clutching both arms to his chest. Rushing forward, Ed took a moment to be impressed at Jules' accuracy; her bullet had neatly pierced the man's formerly uninjured forearm, breaking it and rendering it useless. He forced the man onto his stomach, meeting little resistance as the pain finally overcame him and he passed out. Allowing Wordy to cuff the subject, Ed radioed the police. "Detective Stanwick! This is Ed Lane with the SRU. We have secured the hostages and will be moving to sweep the rest of the store shortly. Please be advised that the hostages will be exiting through the north wall breach momentarily!"

"Copy that," the Detective's voice confirmed over the coms.

"Okay everyone," Greg called out loudly, "please follow these two men," he gestured to Wade and Burcell, "calmly and quietly as they escort you out of the building. You all have been incredibly brave and patient, and I just need to ask you to remain so for a little while longer as you proceed out the exit."

Jules appeared at his side as the hostages began making their way out and Ed was finally able to focus on the task of clearing the rest of the store and thus getting one step closer to finding Sam. "Spike! What's the status out there?"

"There are two men located at the North end of aisle five, one's leg is injured but he's still conscious, the other appears to be stirring. There is another stashed in the middle of aisle eight, lowest shelf. Sam is currently occupying three subjects towards the south end of aisle ten, in the men's clothing. That still leaves one subject I cannot account for, so please go careful!" the Italian informed him.

"Copy that—" two gunshots sounded from somewhere in the store and Ed's heart stopped. His eyes met Wordy's, and he saw his own fear reflected in them. He didn't want to ask… he didn't want to know… he had to know. "Spike?" he prompted quietly, leaving the question unsaid.

"Sam has neutralized the three subjects he engaged. I can't get a good angle on him now, though, so I don't know his status. I think he's lying down… could be from exhaustion…" Spike trailed off, unconvinced but clinging to hope.

 _Or it could be because he's now bleeding out and we still have an entire store to clear… dammit!_ Ed swore to himself. He turned to the rest of Team One. "Okay, we are going to do this fast and efficiently. We're going to sweep up the north side, secure those two men, move to aisle eight and secure that subject, and then we're headed to Sam with all speed." He was met by silent nods and steely stares.

The next few minutes were torture. Ed was proud of himself and his team for focusing on the job at hand and getting it done, when he knew all of them—himself included—wanted nothing more than to race to the place they knew their missing teammate was. Approaching the end of aisle seven, Ed could see a figure rising from the floor. "SRU, don't move! Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!"

The subject looked at them in horror before diving into the aisle and out of sight, firing a couple of shots over his shoulder which ricocheted harmlessly off of the ballistic shields both Greg and Wordy were holding.

"Gentlemen," Greg called out, "you have nowhere to go. The store is surrounded and we have men inside sweeping it as we speak. Put your weapons on the ground and slide them out of the aisle and no harm will come to you, you have my word."

There was a moment of tense silence as the team waited for the subjects' decision, before, "Okay! Okay we surrender! Guns are on the floor!"

Moments later, twin black objects appeared in front of the team and though Ed couldn't squash the fleeting thought that one of those guns was responsible for injuring his friend, he didn't hesitate to move forward. Jules gathered the guns as the rest of Team One rounded the corner into the aisle, making quick work of securing the two men there.

"Jules, you stay with them until the police come to remove them from the scene," Ed ordered.

She looked like she wanted to argue, but held her tongue, for which Ed was grateful. He knew nobody wanted to stay behind, but somebody had to, and he trusted her to handle herself. Exiting the aisle Ed was met by Wade and Burcell, who fell into step behind them. They approached the aisle that held the last missing man whose location they knew, pulled his unconscious form out from the shelves, handcuffed him, and left Wade to guard him.

At last they began to make their way towards Sam. Ed was both hopefully anticipating and dreading what they would find. Sam was one heck of a talented guy and it appeared that he'd almost single handedly retaken the store—something Ed doubted anyone else would have been able to accomplish—but even he had his limits. They rounded a corner and finally saw the sea of clothing racks before them. "Spike?"

"Straight ahead until I say…" Spike replied without further prompting. Obediently, the team moved forward. "Now right… now left and you should see him."

Turning around a clearance rack, Ed's heart stuttered. He could see one subject slumped on his side, another splayed awkwardly, staring straight at Ed with unseeing eyes, another absolutely motionless, lying on his back, and finally, Sam… Sam, too, was lying on his back, only ten feet away from Ed. The only reason Ed was able to put one foot in front of the other _and jog past his teammate_ in order to make sure the subjects were contained was because he could see that Sam was breathing.

He moved to the man slumped on his side and checked his vitals. Finding them strong he quickly cuffed the man and removed all weapons from his possession, then straightened. He turned around to find Burcell kneeling to check the subject with death in his eyes, Wordy collecting the guns lying around, and Greg checking on the final man lying on his back. He met Ed's gaze and shook his head. With the scene secure at last, Ed finally let his 'the job comes first' attitude drop. He was by Sam's side in seconds. "We need EMS in here now!" he yelled, to whom he wasn't sure, just so long as someone listened.

Remaining totally analytic and non-emotional was out of the question. It was what he'd been trained to do when assessing someone, but that someone had never been Sam. The blonde's black shirt was no longer enough to mask the extent of his injuries, as they were fast outstripping its ability to absorb the blood. Ed could see a couple of lacerations on his torso and the stain on the makeshift bandage around his shoulder was growing quickly, but it was the sluggishly bleeding wound near to the middle of his chest that made Ed's knees buckle.

He'd been holding on so tightly to the hope that Sam was just exhausted and would sit up smiling and tell Ed he was fine. The fact that he wasn't completely destroyed Ed. He placed his hands on Sam's chest and pressed down, wincing as he felt several ribs shift beneath his already blood stained fingers. His friend's list of injuries was growing, and didn't want to think about what else was hidden under the surface of Sam's skin. The wound beneath Ed's hands was not bleeding heavily and he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. He looked to Sam's face, hoping he'd regained consciousness, but the blonde's eyes remained stubbornly closed. Wordy knelt down next to him and placed his own hands over Ed's, adding pressure, and that was when Ed decided Sam _needed_ to open his eyes. There was no way in hell that Ed was going to let his friend have gone through this nightmare only to fall at the finish line. Distantly, he heard Greg calling the police in, warning them to remain on alert because of the one subject yet unaccounted for, but Ed focused entirely on the man lying before him. "Sam," he called, his voice sounding harsh and loud to his own ears. "Sam, it's over. We're here, but you're scaring us and we're admitting it, okay? Know how significant that is? It's pretty significant because we tough guys don't like to admit we're scared. So why don't you help us out here and open your eyes?" He waited. "Sam?" he prompted again. No response.

A hand clasped his shoulder and he threw a glance backwards to see Greg trying to keep the emotions off his face. "How is he, Eddie?"

Ed shook his head, not sure if he was saying "I don't know," or "not good." He wasn't sure if he wanted to know which he meant. Turning back to Sam he was astonished when he saw the ex-soldier's eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. "Sam!" Ed yelled ecstatically, only to have his heart plummet when he received no response from his teammate except for a slow blink of his eyes.

"Hey Sam, buddy," Wordy chimed in, lifting a hand to gently tap Sam's face, "you with us?"

Sam's eyes moved slowly towards Wordy and rested on him for a moment, before they slid just as slowly towards Ed. Seeming to decide there was nothing more he could do, his eyelids slowly slipped close.

"Hey!" Ed practically shouted. "Don't you go to sleep on me, Braddock! Bad enough you're lying down on the job but—"

Ed was cut off mid speech when Sam's eyes flew back open. His left arm shot up and grabbed the collar of Ed's tactical vest, pulling him closer with surprising strength. "Ed!" Sam gasped.

Ed couldn't hold back his grin of relief. "Yeah, Samo, we're here! It's all good. You did good."

Sam's eyes slid shut again and he shook his head. "No, no. You have t—have to f-find her. She's not safe!"

"Find who, Sam? Do you mean Libby? She's okay! Everyone's okay," Ed tried to reassure him, desperate to calm his friend who was already beginning to shift in agitation. "Sam you have to stay still! Please!"

The blonde stubbornly shook his head again. "Sh-she doesn't want t-to be alone. S-s-scared of h-heights."

"Okay, Sam, I'll tell you what. Just as soon as you're taken care of I will go look for her myself. How does that sound?"

"No. Now. G-go now," Sam wheezed, pinning Ed with demanding, clear blue eyes.

"Dammit, Sam!" Ed growled. "I'm not leaving you so get that through your head and deal with it! Libby's fine! You protected her!"

He frowned. "H-how do you kn-know?"

Stumped for a moment because he didn't want to lie to his teammate, it took Ed several breaths to find an acceptable answer that he believed with all his heart. "Because I know you, Sam, and you wouldn't have let anything happen to her."

Sam stared at him and Ed could see the self-doubt in those eyes, before he huffed and let his eyes close. Maintaining his strong grip on Ed's vest, he muttered something the Team Lead couldn't hear.

"What was that, Sam? Say that again?"

"Wouldn't have l-let anyth-thing _bad_ h-happen t'her," he replied, his breath hitching around the pressure on his damaged ribs.

Ed frowned in confusion at the stress on the word "bad," but decided to let it go for now. "That's right," he agreed, "I know you, and I know you wouldn't have let anything bad happen to her." He could tell that Sam wasn't convinced, but at least he had settled down for the moment. His breathing was getting progressively more labored, however, so Ed lifted his head to demand why EMS wasn't here yet, when he heard pounding footsteps and turned to see something he was not prepared for. A slim young girl with black slacks and a bloodstained red polo shirt was racing towards him with a terrified and deathly pale face. The look in her eyes caused Ed's adrenaline to rise even further and for a horrifying moment he wondered if she was being pursued by the last subject. He started to shift in order to go for his gun, but just in time his eyes flicked to the form running behind her and he stilled. She was being chased by Officer Wade and the distance between the two of them was widening. How a twelve year old was able to outstrip a fully grown, athletic man, Ed didn't know… But she did. She was dropping to the ground next to him mere moments after he first saw her.

"SAM!" she cried out, reaching forward to cup the blonde's face in trembling hands, and it was then that Ed understood why he'd seen fear in her eyes; it hadn't been for her own safety. "Sam, I'm here! I'm here, okay?" She smiled bravely at the man who had saved her life, and Ed was impressed and deeply grateful for her effort to push back her own panic and make the decision to come here and help his friend when he was sure she wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of this store that had been her living nightmare for the past few hours.

Nearly every muscle in Sam's body relaxed upon hearing her voice and for a moment Ed truly panicked—horrified that Sam's life had just slipped between his fingers—until he realized that, while the rest of his body was now relaxed, Sam still clung tightly to Ed's vest. A smile graced the injured man's face and his eyes cracked open to look at Libby. "Good," was all he said, but that was enough to break the impressive self-control Libby had had up until this point and she started crying.

Sam let go of Ed and, for a moment, he felt betrayed and bereft as his friend ended their contact, until he saw Sam's hand reach out and cup Libby's face, his thumb wiping away her tears. "S-s-shhh," he stuttered.

She seized his arm, clinging to him like he was the most important treasure that she would never let go of. "You're always comforting me when you're the one who deserves the comfort!" She scolded.

He grinned at her, before letting his eyes close and his hand drop. For the second time in as many minutes, Ed was on the verge of panic, fearing that Sam was finally giving up, until he saw the man trying to maneuver his hand into his pocket. He was not having much success, so Ed caught Wordy's gaze and nodded towards their teammate's struggle, not having to use words to communicate.

"Here," Wordy told Sam softly, carefully removing one of his hands from where he was trying to stem the flow of blood and resting it on top of Sam's searching one, "let me help."

Sam nodded, eyes still closed.

Wordy removed a folded piece of paper from Sam's pocket and placed it in Sam's hand, grimacing when he saw that it now had smudged, bloody fingerprints on it. Sam sighed in relief before once again lifting his arm towards Libby. Ed could see with each movement that his strength was leaving him, just as the blood beneath Ed's fingers kept seeping out in smug defiance to the pressure he was applying. Libby caught Sam's hand and took the piece of paper. "Is this for me?" she asked.

Sam opened his eyes to blink them in assent.

"Okay. But I'm not going to open it until you can look at it with me, you got that?"

Ed was pretty sure Sam was beginning to roll his eyes and he was about to chuckle at the dynamics between the two, when Sam's body suddenly went limp and this time, Ed knew it was for real. He had enough experience such that outwardly he remained calm when inside he was yelling in panic.

"Where is EMS?!" Okay, so maybe externally he was yelling, too.

"Eddie," Greg called softly from somewhere over his shoulder "We still have an active scene. They can't come in until we locate that last man."

Libby looked up at the sergeant in horror. "You mean you didn't get them all? What last man?" she demanded.

Ed had nearly forgotten. "The first man Sam took down, we haven't been able to confirm he's neutralized. Haven't been able even to find him," Ed explained hurriedly.

"He's neutralized, dammit!" Ed lifted his eyes to stare at her in surprise. "He's in the wooden play house encased in duct tape!" she hissed angrily.

He heard Greg order men to search and secure the wooden structure, but he had eyes only for Libby; he was taken aback by the fierceness he saw in her gaze. "Now you get those paramedics in here right now!" she ordered with more authority than most generals.

"Greg?" Ed queried.

"They'll be on their way the moment Jules and officers locate the playhouse," Greg responded, striving to remain calm and helpless to do more.

As a moment of silence fell, Wade—who had followed Libby to Sam's side—reached down and grasped her shoulder. "Ms. Riles, you need to come with me. You parents are frantic and there's nothing you can do to help Constable Braddock."

Libby stood and whirled on the officer, glaring at him with intense dislike; Ed was very glad that he was no longer on the receiving end of her ire. "My parents should know I'm okay and I'll be out as soon as I can! Maybe there is nothing I can do to help _Sam_ ," she emphasized his name, "but he's done a heck of a lot for me so if there's even a small chance that I can do something for him then I'm taking it!"

Ed cheered her on silently as she stood up to the Witness Protection Officer who had done nothing but second guess and criticize Sam.

Wade took a step back from the intimidating four foot tall figure, unable to withstand her gaze. He was about to make a reply of some sort, and if he had Ed wasn't sure if he'd have been able to stop himself from leaping up and smacking the man, but just then a team of paramedics arrived. Libby quickly backed out of the way but remained close.

"What do we have here, sir?" one of the paramedics asked Ed.

"This is Constable Sam Braddock and he has a through and through to the left shoulder, a GSW to the chest, and two other lacerations along his torso," Ed recited automatically.

The young woman nodded. "Okay, when I say, please remove your hands." She tore open a bandage packet while her partner prepared an I.V. line. "Now, please."

Both Wordy and Ed removed their hands as the paramedic immediately replaced their pressure with a bandage. Now all Ed could do was sit back on his heels and watch as these women fought to save the life of a hero.

His hands began to feel cool and he looked down to see red. Only red. Absently wiping them on his pants, he turned his attention back to Sam, only to see him being moved onto a gurney as they prepared to take him to the hospital.

As the paramedics made final last minute adjustments, Ed moved forward and clasped Sam's lower arm, smiling as he saw Libby approach his other side. He leaned forward and told Sam firmly, "You will see me in a little while, you got that? No clocking out on me, Braddock."

Libby gave Ed a watery smile before turning to Sam and ordering him, "You just listen to your friend, Sam. We're not done yet."

Moments later Sam was being wheeled away. _This is_ _ **not**_ _the last time you will see that young man,_ Ed informed himself determinedly, before he turned around and nearly bumped into someone. "Spike!" Ed greeted in surprise. "I didn't realize you were here." He took in the Italian's pale face and reached out to steady the man whose eyes followed the path of the leaving gurney. When the bomb expert didn't respond, Ed frowned. "Spike?" he prompted, concerned for his teammate, knowing it had to have been hard to just watch what was happening in the store and not be able to do anything about it but feed information to the team.

Spike blinked and brought his gaze to meet Ed's. "I arrived with the paramedics," he stated simply, obviously still shell shocked.

Ed made the decision that he would not be allowing Spike to stray very far from his side until he could better help the man. He was grateful that none of them—except Sam—had had to make a lethal shot and therefore none of them would have to go through the torture of SIU; the moment they finished here they would be headed straight for the hospital.

He felt a tap on his elbow, and when he turned he saw Libby standing there, arms crossed and held close to her body, exhaustion evident in her face. "Excuse me, but would you two be able to help me? I need to get my brother and I'd rather not do it by myself," she admitted quietly.

* * *

.

.

.

.

 **A.N.2.** At least that's not as much as a cliffhanger as last time, right? Some of you were hoping that Sam was going to escape without further injury, and I'm sorry I couldn't cater to your request... but this is me and I like to put Sam through the wringer because he's just so good at getting injured and fighting through it and still being amazingly heroic.


	14. Chapter 13

**A.N.** I fully recognize that I have been cruelly torturing you all in making you wait. It has been completely unintentional—life decided it was suddenly time for me to get BUSY—but nonetheless it happened, and for that I am sorry. Thank you everyone for sticking with me and prodding me to continue! Like I said, I'm not abandoning this story, time to work on it is just a rare commodity these days. I'll continue though! Keep your eyes peeled :)

Thank you to missblueyes63, venetiaj (I had such fun making Libby a little firecracker for that scene!), garb50, 2 guests, Buckeye am I, sherryw, Cynthia (thanks for the nudges to update!), chocolateverries, pmbb (so glad you're obsessed... I am too!), and aesir21 (I'm thrilled you like Libby and that I was able to do the scene justice! It was really challenging but I'm glad it paid off).

I'll not keep you waiting any longer. Enjoy!

.

.

.

.

* * *

Ed and Spike followed Libby through the store towards the back office. As they passed through the various aisles, Ed couldn't suppress a shudder as he thought of how this place had become a war zone that had almost stolen his friend's life right out from under Ed's hands.

They walked into a sea of clothing racks and Ed saw Libby's head turn, her eyes singling out a particular stand filled with dresses, before she moved on. Ed let his own gaze fall on the circular rack, wondering at its significance.

As they approached the door to the office, everything felt very surreal. The adrenaline that was still singing in his veins caused things to slow and distort, making objects feel farther away than they actually were. A small part of his consciousness realized that this was probably his coping mechanism—or lack of, rather. Because events had moved so fast, he had not quite yet come to terms with all that had happened.

Libby opened the door and entered the office, moving towards the far wall, and the two men followed her in. Ed glanced at Spike, concerned that the other man still hadn't said another word, and he saw that the Italian was slowly scanning the room, eyes falling on the computer and then moving to the doorway. It took Ed a moment to realize that Spike was recreating the first moment they had seen Sam that day, followed by the fight between their teammate and one of the subjects.

"Hey," Ed called softly, pulling Spike's gaze to him and breaking him out of his daze, "I know what's going on in that mind of yours, and it needs to stop right now. What's done is done and we cannot change it. There's nothing more we could have done." The words felt like acid in his mouth because he did not believe _he_ had done all he could. He knew without a doubt that Spike had, but he himself had totally and utterly failed Sam: by not answering his call, by not noticing his bike sooner, by not being there when he needed him the most… the list went on. He hoped that Spike didn't hear the self-doubt in his own voice and instead chose to believe him, though, knowing the entire team's stubbornness and propensity to take on blame that was not their own, Ed feared he wouldn't.

Spike turned away. "Yeah, okay."

Once again following Spike's gaze, Ed turned to see Libby walking towards them, holding the hand a little blond who could only be her brother. The little boy stared up at Ed, eyes flicking back and forth between him and Spike, before finally choosing to settle on Spike.

"You're not Sam," the boy stated simply. There was no accusation in his voice, but Ed felt it as a spear straight through his heart, and knew Spike did too.

Spike swallowed hard. "No, we're not," he agreed with the little boy. "I'll tell you what, though. You'll get to see Sam again soon. Can't—can't tell you when exactly, but soon, okay?"

For the boy, that was enough. He nodded solemnly and let his sister pull him along behind her, out of the room. Just at the doorway, Libby paused and looked back at the two men still standing in the office. "Thank you," she murmured, before walking away.

What she was thanking them for, Ed wasn't sure. He didn't feel like he deserved much thanks, but he was grateful for her words nonetheless. When she was out of sight Ed grabbed Spike's elbow and began to lead him through the store towards the wall they had breached. The front doors might have been opened by now, but he didn't want to take the chance of being stuck in this place any longer than he had to.

When the exit was in sight, Spike suddenly stopped. "Ed?"

Concerned, he turned to face the Italian. "Yeah, Spike?"

For the first time since Sam had been taken away by the paramedics, Spike met Ed's gaze. "I think I lied," he whispered.

Ed frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think Libby's brother is going to see Sam again… I don't think any of us are…You were there with him… I mean, you saw how hard it was for him to breathe, how much abuse his body took. I mean, there's only so much someone can take, you know? And Sam can take a lot," Spike paused in his outburst, closing his eyes and letting out a breath, "God he can take a lot, but I don't think even he can take this much. And then," he stuttered, running his hands viciously through his hair before yelling in frustration, "and then he just let go, god dammit! He gave Libby that piece of paper and knew she was okay and that was enough! He thought his job was done now that she was safe, but damn it all to hell it's not! He's not allowed to just quit when everyone else is okay, _he_ has to make it out too!" Spike paused, breath coming in short bursts. Those breaths quickly morphed into staccato sobs as the weight of his words fully began to sink in. "He has to make it, Ed. He has to," he finished in a whisper, knowing he'd just given voice to the fear that all of them had been keeping inside. The moment it was fully out in the open, the Italian's face crumpled and tears began to spill down his face. He covered his eyes with his hands as his shoulders shook in silent heaves. Ed didn't hesitate a moment longer. Stepping forward he pulled his teammate and friend into a fierce embrace, feeling Spike's arms wrap around him in return.

They stood that way for several long moments, both seeking comfort from the other. There would be a time when Ed would let himself break down… a time when his own tears would fall, but that time was not right now. Right now he needed to be strong. Taking in a deep breath, he said quietly, "Spike, you didn't lie. I promise you, you didn't lie." _Dear God_ _ **please**_ _let him not have lied._ "You told that little boy the truth and nothing but the truth." He stepped back and held Spike at arms-length, forcing the Italian to look at him. "You know—just like I know—how much of a fighter Sam is. How loyal he is. He's not going to leave us… He's not going to leave us," Ed stated again.

Spike nodded miserably, rubbing his face vigorously in an attempt to compose himself. "Ah, Ed, it's just…" he couldn't finish.

"I know," Ed spoke softly. "I know. But everything's going to be okay."

It took several more minutes before Spike was ready to continue forward and Ed wasn't going to push him to move faster than he needed to, even though Ed wanted nothing more than to jump in a car and break every traffic law in order to get to the hospital. But he knew that he could not do anything for Sam right now, whereas he could do something for the man standing in front of him. Once Spike nodded and began to move, they continued their journey towards the exit, finding themselves outside in the parking lot moments later. Blinking in the bright sunlight, Ed was stunned at the amount of people crowding around the police tape—both media and non-media.

Greg approached them and noticed Ed's surprise. "They got wind of the story… heard there was an off-duty SRU officer involved and well, you know how they love a good story. No idea who tipped them off, but if I find out… let's just say the media will have an even juicier story on their hands. And if they start asking me questions, so help me but I cannot be held responsible for my actions," Greg grumbled.

Ed was able to muster a small smile at Greg's uncharacteristic short-temper. "I'd be happy to snap at them for you."

Greg returned his smile with one of his own, before becoming serious. "Our job here is done. Let's pack up and get out of here."

Both Spike and Ed nodded, quickly making their way towards their respective vehicles and packing away their gear. Jules and Wordy were already in a car so Greg waived them on. He entered a car himself and began to follow them, pulling out of the parking lot. Ed didn't need to ask where they were going.

As he watched Spike head to the truck, he pulled open his own SUV's door and got in. He turned to grab his seatbelt and, when he turned back to lock it into the buckle, his passenger door opened and Libby climbed in. Buckle frozen three inches from the clasp, he stared as she calmly shut the door then reached back and drew the seatbelt out across her body, firmly snapping it into place. She placed her hands in her lap and stared back at him. When he continued to remain motionless, she frowned. "Well? Aren't you headed to the hospital?"

His brain gradually caught up with the situation and he realized how stupidly he was behaving. He quickly finished buckling. "Yes… I am," he replied slowly, taken aback by her boldness. "And where are you headed."

"I should think that's obvious: the hospital."

"Uh-huh," he nodded, unconvinced. "With me…"

"With you," she confirmed, as if it was the plainest fact in the world.

"Uh-huh," he repeated. "Why aren't you with your parents?"

"They're not here. It's their anniversary today so they took a day trip to a park several hours away. I talked with them on the phone—they're on their way back—but they won't be here for a while. Monica—she's a friend and an employee here—is taking Tulio, but she's had a stressful day and I didn't want to make her come to the hospital with me and there's absolutely no way I am going anywhere else. So, I promised her I would stay with the police and that I'd be waiting for my parents at the hospital."

She laid the facts out before him as if reading off a grocery list.

"Right. What about Officers Wade and Burcell. Aren't they responsible for you?"

She let out a put upon sigh. "Yeah, they'll find me eventually. And I mean, it's not like I'd be any safer with them than I would be with you; you're on the same team as Sam, so…" she left the implications of that statement unsaid, as if they were obvious, which, Ed supposed, they were.

He had to look away for a moment in order to compose himself. "I can't just drive off with you."

"Yes you can. You want to get to Sam, I want to get to Sam, and I'm not getting out of this car until we both get what we want… Unless you drag me kicking and screaming, which is going to make quite a scene and I don't know if you noticed but there is a surplus of news channels just over there who are all hoping to get a tiny glimpse of action. I don't think you want that kind of celebrity status."

Still facing away from her, Ed didn't bother to keep a small smile from slipping onto his face. Quickly wiping it away, he turned back to her. "Okay, on one condition. You let Wade and Burcell know _before_ you disappear on them. I don't need them hounding me down when all I want to do is be left in peace with my team."

She pursed her lips before reluctantly nodding. "Deal." She held out her hand and it took him a second to realize she was asking him to shake on it. He clasped her small hand in his own and she squeezed it firmly. "But," she pulled his hand towards her, forcing him to lean forwards, "if you drive away without me," she caught his gaze and held it, her eyes conveying the depth of her sincerity, "we're going to have a problem and you won't like the consequences." She let go of his hand, unbuckled herself and exited the vehicle, leaving Ed with no doubt that she would make good on her promise, though he had no notion of how. Deciding not to test it, he managed to wait the three minutes it took for her to return.

She re-buckled herself. "Please drive quickly."

Needing no further encouragement, they peeled out of the parking lot and into the street, leaving more than a little rubber behind on the pavement.

They settled into silence for several minutes. Ed honestly wasn't sure what to talk to this girl about, let alone if she even _wanted_ to talk after the day she'd just had. In the end, it was Libby that started the conversation.

"You're Ed, right?"

He glanced at her, surprised that she didn't know his name. In retrospect, though, things had happened very quickly and he knew there hadn't been time, even though while he'd been talking to Sam and trying to keep him alive it felt as if ages had passed. Then, as he thought about it further, he realized it had never been mentioned in her presence… His surprise changed to shock. _How does she know my name?_ At this point he realized he'd been silent for several breaths longer than was polite, but she must have noticed his surprise because she explained, "Sam tried to call someone when everything started happening and it seemed like it was you, Mr…?"

Startled at her observational skills, it took him yet another moment to respond. "I think we can drop the 'Mr.' given what you went through with my friend. Let's just leave it at Ed."

She nodded at his confirmation. "So how did you meet Sam?"

He sighed, remembering back to one of the calls that had shaken him the most throughout his entire career. He shuddered recalling the image of a person flashing past his scope just as his finger squeezed the trigger, and the horrifying seconds that followed when he couldn't figure out whom he'd shot. It had been just a few short moments after this that Ed had first seen Sam. As he was walking towards SIU's car, his eyes had been drawn left towards a blonde man standing quietly to the side, not moving even as the people around him scrambled to return the scene to normalcy. Ed had been struck by how calm the man appeared, until their gazes met. He'd had to look away after only a few moments, because the man's gaze had pierced right through him, but not with accusation. No, he hadn't seen judgment in those eyes, he'd seen complete and utter understanding. To this day Ed did not know how Sam had known that Ed was the one that had taken the shot, nor how he'd known what Ed was feeling, but he had. Ed had seen it in his eyes. At the time he had dismissed the man; too focused on the painful SIU interview to come, he'd had no idea what kind of an impact the blonde figure would have on his life. Realizing that yet again he'd remained silent for too long, Ed quickly answered, "Long story, the short version is that he joined my team and we didn't get along very well at the beginning," he was still kicking himself over the entire team's poor reception of their new member, "but eventually we figured it out. After he saved our lives a few times—he has a tendency to do that."

"I know."

They lapsed into silence again and Ed had to bite his tongue in order to keep himself from asking her to tell him what had happened in the store, to give him every detail that would help him piece together a picture of what this day had been. When his self-control was about to crumble, he was saved by their arrival at the hospital. It took every ounce of will that he still had in order for him to make himself get out of the car and walk through the doors. There was a false sense of security in not knowing, and he was incredibly unwilling to burst that bubble.

They entered the waiting area and immediately paused when the rest of Team One was nowhere to be found. For a moment, Ed allowed himself the pleasant fantasy that this had all been a dream and that there was absolutely no reason he needed to be at the hospital, until a nurse hesitantly approached him.

"Uhm," she cleared her throat nervously, "are you here for the officer that was brought in just a little while ago? The one involved in The Oakes hostage situation?"

Glancing down at his bloodstained SRU uniform, Ed sighed. "What gave it away?"

The nurse smiled sympathetically and nodded. "Your teammates are waiting in a separate room. They were making the rest of the patients nervous so we thought everyone would appreciate it if you moved. I'll take you to them."

He followed her mindlessly, aware that Libby was just behind him, but not caring where he was going just so long as he got there. The nurse showed him to a room down the hall, opened the door and walked away. Libby entered hesitantly, sitting down in the chair closest to the door and farthest from the various team members, trying to be respectful and give them space. Ed stayed rooted in the doorway for a moment, staring at each one of his teammates in turn. Jules had her head in her hands, slumped forward with her elbows resting on her knees. Wordy was just staring at the wall opposite him, closing his eyes every other breath. Greg was tracing his fingers along the arm rest, eyes trained on an invisible spot on the floor, and Spike was reading a magazine, though on closer inspection, Ed realized he was just flipping through the pages without moving his eyes across the text.

Staring at his teammates' body language, each one of them screaming some sort of defeat, despair, or hopelessness, Ed couldn't take it anymore. His last reserve of stoicism was gone and he found himself whirling around and charging down the hall, desperate to get away from them before he broke down. A confused, "Ed?" followed him as he fled.


	15. Chapter 14

**A.N.** I'll not delay you with a lengthy author's note. I just want to apologize again for the delay in posting this chapter, and for the fact that it's rather short. Thank you once again to all of you, for your encouragement and reviews! The fact that you all are enjoying this story is what keeps me going!

A word of warning: if you do not like emotional fallout and/or feel it is too out of character, I completely respect that! If that's the case, please feel free to skip this chapter :)

.

.

.

.

* * *

 _I have to get away… I have to get away… Quick, hide. You can't show them how terrified you are._ Ed hurried down the hall, desperately searching for a place he could disappear. Seeing his team so defeated had finally broken the last reserves of strength he'd been carrying. He felt his own desperation and fear rising up to drown out everything, and he could not burden them with that, especially after telling Spike that Sam was going to be fine. He couldn't let Spike know he'd been lying.

On his left a haven appeared: a single room bathroom. Quickly knocking, he burst through the door when there was no answer, shutting and locking it behind him. Frantically, he scrubbed at his hands in the sink, desperate to remove the stain of Sam's mortality from his skin.

Once his hands were clean, he stripped off his bloody jacket and threw it into a corner as far away from him as possible. Next were his boots; though they were black, he could still see spots of darkness on them, and he knew what those patches were. They were glaring reminders of how close his friend was to death.

The boots he scrubbed in the sink as well until they were soaked, but the spots were gone… or at the very least disguised by the darkness of the water on the leather. Standing just in his socks he set the boots down on the floor, and now with no other task to keep his mind off of Sam, he slid to the ground and let the tears begin to stream down his face. Back against the wall, he pulled his knees up to his chest and covered his face with his hands and wept. The thought of losing Sam, a man whom he had disliked at the beginning but slowly began to worm his way into Ed's heart, day by day, amazing save by amazing save… he just could not fathom the fact that he might never see that man again. The idea that the energy that was so clearly _Sam_ might never enter a room again and light it up, or that Ed would never get his socks knocked off by the man's amazing accuracy… no matter how hard Ed fought tooth and nail to keep these terrible thoughts at bay, they were fast taking root and forcing him to realize that they might become a reality.

His shoulders heaved and his chest ached as he tried to breathe through the grief that clutched him. He cursed himself for not making his promise to Sam clearer and more carefully worded; because Sam had indeed royally kicked the subjects' asses and seen Ed afterwards, just not in the way Ed had intended.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath. He had seen how scared Sam was as he lay beneath Ed and Wordy's hands, gasping for air, and at first he'd thought that it was fear of dying—Ed would not have thought lesser of him if it was, because there was no shame in it—but then he'd realized he'd been wrong. Sam hadn't been afraid that he was dying, he'd been afraid because even after all he'd done, he still thought he'd failed.

It had taken the appearance of Libby for Ed to realize this, and again Ed knew he would be forever grateful that she had chosen to find Sam rather than get the hell out of that deathtrap of a store the moment the bullets stopped flying. If she hadn't, Ed was pretty sure that no matter how much he and Wordy had pleaded, no matter how hard they had pressed to stop the flow of blood, no matter how many times they fought to bring him back, Sam would not have even made it to the hospital. Ed wasn't sure what bothered him more… the fact that he and Wordy—Sam's own friends and teammates, hadn't been enough to convince him that he hadn't failed—or the fact that Sam needed convincing that he hadn't failed in the first place.

Ed grudgingly admitted that that was probably partially his fault. Sam was someone who valued the opinions of those who were his superiors and whom he respected, and for the first several months Ed had only berated and demeaned him, keeping him entirely at arm's length. How Sam was still able to respect him after that treatment, Ed wasn't sure, but he was eternally grateful that he did. Finally, Ed had realized how blind he'd been to the situation—that instead of mentoring the new recruit he'd thrown him to the wolves—but it had taken far too long for him to come to this realization. Ed suspected that Sam already had issues with being self-critical prior to his joining the SRU—likely due to the often mentioned, never talked of General… Ed would do just about anything to know more about that man—but it had been significantly exacerbated by the constant second guessing and mistrust of Team One, and Ed sincerely regretted that. He would give anything to go back in time and change things.

It was at this moment that he felt a presence sit down at his side, shoulder to shoulder with him. Though startled, because 1) he'd locked the door, and 2) he hadn't heard anyone come in, he did not bother to raise his head from his hands; he knew who it was. As hard as he tried, he could not stop his uncontrollable shaking and he was grateful that the person did not offer any reassurances, and instead just sat there.

After a time—he had no notion of how long, but he guessed it was over a quarter of an hour—he was able to get his emotions under control, enough that he thought he would be able to speak without breaking down again. "How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded, though his voice was hoarse and had no bite to it.

"Picked the lock," Spike said simply.

This finally caused Ed to look at his companion. "You didn't ask for a key?"

The Italian shrugged. "My way was faster."

Ed couldn't stop a burst of laughter from escaping his mouth, which quickly turned into a choked cough as his mind rebelled against the thought of anything being able to be funny at this time. "I'm sorry," he whispered to Spike.

At this the bomb-expert finally placed his arm around Ed's shoulder and squeezed gently. "You have nothing to apologize for, Ed."

He shook his head violently, unable to voice his disagreement.

"Ed," Spike spoke firmly, "If you think I'm wrong, then please tell me why you're apologizing so that I can properly refute your ridiculous sense of the world resting on your shoulders."

"For everything, dammit!" Ed exploded. "I should have picked up the phone when Sam called the first time! I should have seen his bike sooner! I should have figured out a way in more quickly! And then, to top it all off, I lied straight to your face! How can you forgive me for that?!"

"When did you lie straight to my face?"

"I said there was nothing more we could have done! I said you hadn't lied to Libby's brother and that we Sam was going to come back to us!"

"So when did you lie to me?"

Ed looked over at the Italian in confusion. "What?"

"Everything you said just now is true. I didn't believe it back in the store and you helped me through that, so now it's my turn. You don't believe it yet, but you will."

"No," Ed shook his head stubbornly. "No, you're wrong. I could have done more!"

"Okay," Spike conceded, "so tell me how you could have done more. Because what you've said so far is bullshit. What would have happened if you'd answered the phone or noticed the bike sooner? We wouldn't have been on the scene any faster and we wouldn't have been able to talk to Sam much because we've already determined that his battery died. Finding a way in more quickly wouldn't have worked, because everything hinged on only one subject being with the hostages, and that couldn't happen until Sam had already taken down three and then lured the rest out, not to mention that you are _not_ the only one on this team that was working on the problem, so if you're blaming yourself that means your blaming Wordy and me because we were both trying to figure a way in, too." Ed opened his mouth to protest, but Spike wasn't done. "And then, you did not lie to me when you said what you did when I broke down. You put your own feelings and fears aside in order to help a friend in need." Spike paused a moment to let all of that sink in. "That's what I saw, so I don't see where you lied or failed. Care to enlighten me?"

Ed was silent for several moments before he sighed. "Ah hell, Spike, you're not going to let me feel sorry for myself, huh?"

Spike grinned. "Nope! Feeling sorry for yourself or beating yourself up is no longer allowed. I gave you about fifteen minutes of it, and that exceeds your weekly quota of five."

"I have a quota? Since when do I have a quota?"

"Since right now. You are way too hard on yourself way too often, so I'm putting a stop to it right now… Besides, soldiers follow their leader's lead, so if you want to set an example for Sam or have the right to tell him that he shouldn't be beating himself up, then you need to change."

And that was what sealed the deal. Tell Ed he had to stop feeling bad about himself, and he wouldn't listen. Get him to realize there were others relying on him _not_ feeling bad for himself, and he knew they were right. He sighed. "Okay."

"Good, because if it's all right with you, I'd like to get out of the ladies bathroom."

* * *

.

.

.

.

 **A.N.2.** I hope this did not feel like it moved too quickly. I just didn't want Spike and Ed dwelling too much, because I felt like that would bog things down. Not to say that they are totally fine with things, not by any means, but just that this chapter and the last will probably be the most heavy on the angst part. Once they find out about Sam and everything, that's a whole other ball game :)


	16. Chapter 15

**A.N.** I am so, so incredibly sorry for the horrendously long wait. Jeez, over eight months. It was never my intention to do that, but events conspired against me and life threw me some pretty hard sucker punches that made it really hard to complete this story. Those events made writing be one of the last things on my mind and whenever I tried to get on with the story, I hit a brick wall. As a result, I've been second guessing myself all through these final chapters—am I forgetting something, am I making mistakes, am I moving too fast, am I moving too slow, etc. I have finally decided I can't keep doing that and that it's time to finish this. I've had a couple of chapters written for a few months, but I wanted to wait until I had the whole story before I started posting again so that there would only be one ridiculously long wait.

I just completed the rough draft of the last chapter tonight! There are about five or six left from this point on, depending on if I expand upon them during my edits. After the last chapter has been posted, I will be going through the story again to fix some plot holes that have been pointed out to me, as well as to clean up various areas. But for now, my focus is on completing the story.

A huge thank you to those of you who have kept nudging me to update and continue, and another apology that it took so darn long. We're in the home stretch now, though! This chapter will be a little bit of rehashing, as Libby catches the team up to what happened before they were there, but on the plus side, I think the ending of this chapter isn't too bad of a cliffhanger :)

I still don't own Flashpoint.

.

.

.

.

* * *

After swearing Spike to secrecy as to where they'd been—and thus ensuring that no one would ever learn of Ed's accidental foray into the women's bathroom—the two returned to the private waiting room.

Ed met Libby's gaze and she smiled shyly at him. He could tell that she was unsure of where she stood in this room of elite officers, all of whom had known Sam for much longer than she had. In an effort to ease her anxiety, Ed mustered a genuine smile to return hers and moved to sit down on her left side.

"You okay?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "No, not really," he admitted.

She nodded. "Me neither." She paused for a minute, before asking quietly, "I suppose you would like me to tell you what happened in the store, now?"

She spoke softly, but no one else in the room was making any noise so the whole team heard her. "No, Miss Oakes," Greg's focus shifted from the arm rest to the young blond girl sitting next to Ed, "you don't have to do that. You don't owe us anything. If anything _we_ owe _you_ for coming to Sam when you did. That was incredibly brave."

She let her eyes meet the sergeant's before she mimicked Ed's shrug. "No, I don't think so. You don't owe me because I owe Sam my life ten times over, so that was just me giving back to him a tiny amount. And I wasn't brave; I was terrified."

Ed couldn't help but smile at that. "That's what being brave means, doing things in spite of your fear."

She gave him a thoughtful look. "You know, that sounds a lot like something Sam said to me."

Stunned, Ed managed to muster a reply, "Well, great minds think alike."

She narrowed her eyes at him and grinned. "Nice job surreptitiously giving yourself a compliment under the guise of praising your friend."

Across the room, Spike snorted.

Ed turned away from Libby in order to send a death glare towards his chortling teammate, but secretly he was happy the man was able to laugh.

"Don't give me that look!" Spike protested, still chuckling. "She totally called you out on it! Nice job," he gave Libby a thumbs up. "Not many people get to one-up Ed."

The Italian's laughter was infectious and Ed soon heard Libby joining in; she had a nice laugh. He shook his head and muttered about how insubordinate and ungrateful people were these days, before glancing around the room. To his relief, he saw that the little episode had pulled the barest hints of smiles onto Greg, Wordy and Jules' faces.

When Spike finally contained his laughter, Libby cleared her throat. "Uhm, I think it would honestly help me if I talked about it, and I know for sure that it will help all of you, so if you don't mind…"

She left the rest of her question unsaid, but she was met with a chorus of encouraging nods. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She frowned. "Huh, I guess I don't really know where to start."

Greg came to her rescue. "How about you start with when you first met Sam?"

"Okay," she smiled hesitantly, "I can do that. I was walking the aisles, looking for customers that needed help, when I encountered a man in the toy section who looked like a fish out of water."

Ed grinned at the image, knowing Sam would have had no idea what to do in that situation, but still wondered why Sam was there in the first place.

"I asked him if he needed help… or actually," she grinned shyly, "I think I told him he needed it. He accepted with relief and told me he was shopping for a friend's daughter; she has a birthday coming up."

An exclamation of dismay sounded from the opposite side of the room, causing Ed to whip his head up. "Don't you dare, Wordy!" he ordered, catching the distraught man's gaze and forcing him to maintain eye contact. "Don't you dare go piling blame on yourself that has no business being on your shoulders!"

Wordy's eyes were tormented. "But Ed! He was there because of me!"

"No! If you say that, then you might as well blame your daughter and even Sam! Your daughter because it's her birthday soon, and Sam for picking today of all days to shop! So don't you _dare_ blame yourself! This had nothing to do with you, you hear?" Ed knew he was being a hypocrite, as just moments earlier he himself had been drowning in his own guilt, but Spike had gotten through to him. No, he wasn't totally over blaming himself, but it was time to set an example and prevent his team members from self-destructing. "Wordy," he continued more softly, "Sam was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The two men locked gazes for several long seconds, before Wordy finally closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat. Ed wasn't fooled that Wordy's guilt was gone just like that, but it was a start.

"Actually," Libby spoke up quietly, "I'd like to believe that Sam was in the right place at the right time."

The entire team turned to look at her. She looked down at her hands. "God that sounds awful, like I wanted him to get hurt… but that's not it at all! What I mean is, if Sam hadn't been there, I'd be dead. Plain and simple." Her voice was trembling now. "And a whole lot of other people might be dead, too, and the men responsible could have gotten away with it… so the selfish part of me thinks Sam was exactly where he needed to be." She looked around the room, carefully meeting each person's eyes, uncertain of the reception her words would receive. "The other part of me wishes he'd been as far away from that store as possible."

Jules spoke up for the first time. "Libby, I think I can speak for everyone when I say that all of us have the same mixed feelings you do," she was met by nods from her teammates, "but I'm a hundred percent positive that no matter what happens to him, Sam is glad he was there."

Libby looked down at her hands again, clasping and unclasping them nervously. "I guess," she whispered. "You know him better than I, but I think you're right. The entire time we were in there, even before the bullets started flying, he was only concerned about me." She laughed, which quickly turned into a hiccupping sob as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Do you know that he was worried I was being taken advantage of? Child labor and all? I'd only known him two minutes and he was already trying to look out for me." She trailed off for a moment, before visibly rallying.

"Anyway, I helped him pick out a few gifts and then we parted ways. That's when we heard the gunshots from the front of the store and I froze. I absolutely could not move. I knew what was going on, I knew they were there for me, but for the life of me I couldn't think of what to do. And you know what? Sam, who was almost an aisle away at that point, turned around and came back for me." She put her face in her hands. "He came back for me and grabbed my hand when he could have thought nothing more of me, stayed by himself and been just fine without someone to slow him down and be a distraction. But he didn't. He stayed with me and protected me at the expense of his own safety. Why did he do that? He didn't know me. I didn't know him. There's nothing special about me! Why did he think my life was more important than his?"

Ed had been in Libby's position with respect to Sam several times, but he still didn't have a good answer.

She sighed and took several deep breaths, trying to even out her voice. "You all don't need to hear that. Almost the minute he took my hand, we encountered a gunman and Sam shoved me out of sight. Then, a gun went off and all of a sudden Sam pushed me behind him and that's when the man rounded the corner and boom! Just like that he was on the floor. I have no idea how Sam did that… That was the guy taped up in the playhouse; we needed a place to hide and that was the only thing I could think of. I think that's when he called you," she glanced up at Ed. "I'm ashamed to say that in the panic, I forgot about my brother until that moment. I knew I had to get to him, but—and I know it's horrible—there was no way I was going to go without Sam… if he hadn't said yes, I don't know what I would've done… But, of course, he said yes.

"We got halfway to the office when we encountered another man. Sam took him down just as quickly as the first and then we had to hide in the clothing racks. It probably doesn't surprise you that Sam didn't tell me he'd been grazed by a bullet from the first guy, so I had to find that out on my own. I did a horrible job of patching him up, but he just smiled and complimented the job." She shook her head. "He has such a big heart," she whispered, a fact of which the team was well aware.

"He finally got me to Tulio and I can't thank him enough for that. Tulio was terrified and if we hadn't gotten there when we did, I think he would have come out and been discovered. When the other man came in, he was about to shoot me and all I could think was 'no, please, I don't want to die!' and Sam answered my prayer. He leapt in front of me and fought that guy with everything he had. And even though we knew that there'd be men streaming into the office any minute after the man screamed, not once did Sam panic, even when Tulio did. My brother clung to Sam because he was his only lifeline to safety and Sam was able to calm him down and convince him to keep hiding.

"After that, he got me out of there as fast as we could move. I don't know where he came up with the harebrained idea of getting me on top of the shelves, but that was pure genius. Of course, he didn't know that I'm terrified of heights… I almost ruined his plans because I was too darn scared. But he helped me through it." She didn't elaborate, but Ed could imagine what Sam had said in order to calm the young girl.

"Then, your guess is as good as mine as to what happened. Once I got on top of the shelves, I realized he was bleeding again, but it was too late to do anything about it. And then it was just a waiting game. I had no idea what was going on, all I could do was lie there on my back and hope and pray that it would all be over soon and that everyone was going to be okay. I heard some fighting close by, and then a gunshot, and my heart just about stopped. I knew Sam wouldn't have fired the gun, because he was still going for stealth, so I knew the shot had been aimed at him… but I couldn't let myself think that Sam was dead… I just couldn't. I told myself that they had missed, but I couldn't convince myself…

"Things got quiet for a while, but I knew that didn't mean everything was okay because the police would be making even more noise than the gunmen. That's when I heard the explosion, and then the gunshots, and then I heard you all yelling 'SRU!'"

She took in a shaky breath. "I didn't know if it was safe yet, but I knew those gunshots hadn't come from you guys at the front of the store, so that meant either Sam was the shooter, or he was the target, and either way I was going to find him. It took me forever, though, to get down off of those stupid shelves. I was so afraid that I was going to fall—I froze over and over—but I was even more afraid that I was going to be too late. And I almost was."

"But you weren't," Spike told her quietly.

Libby didn't respond for quite a few moments, until she let out in a whisper, "It feels like I was."

"You weren't," Ed told her firmly, gently taking one of her hands in his. "Libby, Sam was in a bad way before you arrived. He was agitated and trying to move and all he could talk about was you and how he needed to make sure you were safe. You gave him that the moment you arrived; you let him know you were okay and that he'd done his job. If you hadn't," he looked around the room at the somber faces, finally meeting eyes with Wordy and voicing what they both knew, "Sam wouldn't have made it out of that store."

She looked at him in shock, read the earnestness of his eyes, and looked back down at her hand in his, unsure of how to take in that information. "What now?"

"Now? Now we wait."

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Hours later, after countless cups of coffee, numerous moments of false hope when a nurse would duck in to check on the group or a doctor would walk by the door, ceaseless minutes of anxious waiting, endless phone calls to and from various loved ones, the door to their waiting room opened and a doctor entered, followed by a nurse. The doctor was wearing red scrubs and a white coat, her hair was tied back tightly and her eyes were tired, but Ed didn't notice any of that. All he saw was that she was smiling.

* * *

.

.

.

.

 **A.N.2.** How was that? I hope it wasn't too anticlimactic after the wait. Updates will be mostly regular now. Every weekend is my goal. Until next time!


	17. Chapter 16

**A.N.** And we're back! Thank you everyone for the amazing response last chapter! I am thrilled so many of you returned even after the ridiculously long wait and that the chapter was enjoyable. Here's a little longer chapter for you all :) And guess what? There's no cliffhanger!

Just a last note: I am not a medical professional, nor do I work in a hospital, nor do I have knowledge of hospital procedures. I have researched and done my best to keep things as realistic as possible, but this is a work of fiction and you may have to suspend disbelief. Please forgive any glaring medical errors.

Disclaimer: nope, Flashpoint isn't mine, nor are the characters (except Libby).

.

.

.

.

* * *

Everyone surged to their feet when the doctor entered, ending their anxious vigil.

She held up her hands. "I can see how much Constable Braddock means to all of you, so I won't leave you in suspense. He made it through surgery and is in Recovery right now. He is still in critical condition, but stable for the moment."

The tension in the air suddenly vanished and Ed felt his stomach settle slightly for the first time that day. "Stable" meant still alive, which was all Ed could hope for at this point, knowing how bad Sam had been when he arrived. "Critical" was less than ideal, but at least Sam was still fighting. If he embraced his stubborn streak—which could be a mile wide when he wanted it to be—and kept on fighting, Ed knew everything would be okay eventually.

The doctor met each of their gazes before continuing. "We were able to remove the bullet from his chest cavity and have immobilized his shoulder. However, he is by no means out of the woods and I do not want to spread false hope. The risk of complications such as infection is very high. Let me assure you, however, that he is being looked after by the most qualified, brilliant medical staff that I know and we are doing everything in our power to see Constable Braddock through this." She paused and looked around at them again, the smile returning to her face. "Though it's against policy, I know you won't rest until you see him, so I will allow three visitors at a time, just for a few minutes. You can decide who goes first and Robin here will take you." She pointed to the young woman who'd accompanied her into the room.

"Why can't we all go?" Spike demanded.

"I'm afraid there's literally not enough room," she replied. "The place he is in is not designed for visitors—as officially they are not allowed—so you'll have to settle for taking turns."

"Ok," Greg spoke up. "Spike, Wordy, Jules, why don't you three go first?"

Nobody argued and the small group left immediately. To Ed's surprise, the doctor did not leave, and instead the moment the doors closed she stepped towards them. Addressing Greg, she asked, "Are you Sergeant Parker? I have a Sergeant Parker listed in Constable Braddock's medical files as his emergency contact and you seem to be the one in charge," she explained. When Greg nodded, she continued. "I have more detailed information on Constable Braddock's health, if you would like to hear it."

Glancing at Ed for confirmation, who nodded his assent, Greg turned back to the doctor. "We would."

Ed saw the doctor's eyes flick over his shoulder—no doubt landing on Libby—and she hesitated to continue.

A sigh rose from behind him. "I guess I'll take this opportunity to go to the bathroom," Libby declared, getting up and walking towards the door. "Be back in a few."

Ed was glad that she wouldn't hear what the doctor was going to say. Not that he thought she couldn't handle it—she seemed to be handling things exceedingly well—but because he didn't want her to _have_ to handle it; she'd dealt with enough that day.

"Constable Braddock was incredibly lucky. The bullet to his chest lodged millimeters from his right subclavian artery, just above his heart. Had it pierced that artery prior to his arrival here at the hospital, we would be having a very different conversation. Unfortunately, despite our precautions, the bullet did shift during surgery and nicked that artery. We were able to fix the bleed, but the amount of blood he lost—not to mention the trauma his entire body has gone through—caused him to go into hypovolemic shock."

Ed had to close his eyes at the onslaught of bad information that was flooding him. And the doctor had called Sam lucky?

"Using transfusions we were able to bring him out of shock, but the stress to his system was extensive and that is what is currently causing most of our concern. His body has been taxed beyond normal limits for quite a while, and instead of getting the reprieve it desperately needed, it was hit hard again. With his immune system compromised, the risk of infection is very high. As I said earlier, we finally have him at a place of relative stability, but even a tiny set back at this point could be disastrous. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are crucial; if he makes it through, then I am cautiously optimistic." She paused to give them a moment to absorb what she'd shared. "How are we doing? Are you still with me?"

Ed cleared his throat and, after glancing at Greg, nodded. "Uh, yeah. We're still with you." _Dear God there's more?_

"Okay. The bullet to his left shoulder only tore through muscle. It will need to be immobile for a little while, in order to allow the muscles to begin to repair, but then physical therapy should begin and if he sticks to the regiment, there should be no problems with regaining full control."

Ed was grateful that she spoke as if Sam would make it past the first critical hours. Though it wasn't easy to hear, he desperately needed that confidence and practicality of recovery. He also couldn't stop a small smile from spreading on his face; Sam had accurately diagnosed his injury in the field, but more than that, he'd been honest about it to his team. Ed knew it was not always easy to admit to being injured, so he appreciated that Sam had.

The doctor went on. "Two of his ribs are broken and a third is cracked, which means we will have to watch that fluid doesn't develop in his lungs due to imposed shortness of breath. Lastly, he has contusions littering his entire body, but the two lacerations along his torso did not require stitches."

She looked at both of their pale and drawn faces and gave them an encouraging smile. "I know it's a lot to take in, and I won't say that it sounds worse than it is, but he's still fighting through this and that's what counts."

Greg pulled in a long breath, then let it out. "Thank you, Dr…?"

"Angela," she provided.

Greg was stopped from continuing by the door opening and Libby poking her head in. "Is it okay for me to come back now?"

"Yes, Miss Oakes," Greg smiled, "please come in." As Libby walked over to stand beside Ed, Greg turned his attention back to the doctor. "Thank you, Dr. Angela, for everything. However, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to do quite a bit more."

Ed looked at his boss in confusion, unsure of what he was about to say.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Constable Braddock was involved in a hostage situation earlier today." She nodded. "What you may not be aware of—and I must ask you to keep this strictly confidential—is that Constable Braddock was instrumental in foiling the subjects' plans. Unfortunately it is a very real possibility that they might retaliate and target him, if they were to discover his identity and his location. I don't think that's very likely, but I'd like to plan for it, as a precaution."

Angela showed no surprise on her face, but Ed's eyes widened. He honestly hadn't even thought about the gang retaliating and was thankful that Greg had.

"What I need you to do is identify any of the staff members that have had contact with Constable Braddock and are aware of who he is and have them gather in a room immediately so I can inform them of the situation. Off the top of your head, is that a very long list?"

"No," she replied calmly.

"Okay good. That's very good. Also, once Constable Braddock can be moved, he needs to be located in a private room—for his safety, as well as everyone's at the hospital—and a guard will be with him at all times."

She nodded. "That can be arranged."

"Thank you," he told her sincerely. "Finally, officially Constable Braddock is not located at this hospital and was never admitted. I need you to change his last name from Braddock to… um… Ed? Help me out here."

Ed drew a blank, but a little voice spoke up from beside him. "What about Marlin?"

Ed frowned, trying to pin down why that name sounded familiar.

"Marlin works, thank you." Greg smiled gratefully at Libby. "Is that possible, Dr. Angela?"

"Consider it done. I'll take you to see Constable Braddock and then to a room where you can brief those of us who have cared for him. Now if you'll follow me…" She led the way down the hall, through a maze of doors, finally stopping at a doorway. "This is where I leave you. Please wait here until your colleagues exit—which I am sure will be shortly—and Robin will take you the rest of the way. I have other patients to see now, but if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask for me." She gave them one last parting smile before turning to walk away.

Before she could, however, Ed caught her arm. "Thank you, Dr. Angela." He met her gaze and let the sincerity of his gratitude be seen.

Her eyes softened and she placed her hand over his. "You're welcome. It's the least I can do… I just wish I could do more."

He hesitated before voicing the question that had been bothering him since she'd agreed to break policy and let them see Sam, but finally asked, "Why are you doing all of this?"

Her eyes lost focus for a moment, as if seeing scenes from a long ago memory, before they came back into focus. "My wife is a police officer and she has been on both sides of this: in that hospital bed and in that waiting room. It was incredibly difficult for me when she was in the hospital, but I think it was even worse for her partner and teammates; after a hellish day where very little goes right, all you want to do is get you and your teammates home safely… so when that doesn't happen and instead you have to witness your friend go down… well, you won't be able to rest until you see he's still here. Still breathing." She squeezed his hand then walked away, disappearing down the hall.

They passed a few moments in silence, before the door opened and the rest of their team walked out. Ed tried to gauge their emotional states by their faces, but each of them had obviously clamped down on everything and were refusing to let anything show. He sighed, unsure of whether he wanted to walk through that door or not, even knowing that there really wasn't a question of whether he would or not.

"Go home, guys," Greg ordered them quietly. "Get some food and some rest; you're going to need it."

Jules frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There's a possibility the gang will retaliate. If they went to such great lengths to find Libby even through her identity change, then protection, discretion and secrecy are crucial now." The team drew in a collective breath, but Greg plunged on. "Sam is not to be left alone for the foreseeable future. I've cleared it with the hospital to have a guard assigned to him. I'll be staying here from now to whenever I can get things organized and have a unit sent over."

Spike immediately protested, "Wait a minute, Boss, you can't think we're just going to walk away! That's our friend in there fighting for his life! If there really is an external threat against him, I think I speak for everyone when I say there's no place we'd rather be than here, protecting him." His statement was met with firm nods of assent from every member of the team. "No disrespect to whomever would be assigned to his protection detail, but we wouldn't feel comfortable if one of us wasn't here… we owe it to Sam," Spike finished earnestly, staring at Greg unflinchingly.

"And you all feel this way?" Greg asked, meeting eyes with everyone. All he got in return were resolute stares and verbal affirmations. He sighed; he knew when he was beat. "Okay fair enough. I'll assign one of you to be with him at all times on one condition: you are not to come to the hospital prior to tomorrow afternoon unless otherwise assigned." He raised his hands to quell the immediate objections. "You will be on protection detail which means you will need to be rested, focused and sharp, and that will not happen if you have not gotten adequate rest and sleep. It is your duty to do so. Do you understand me?"

This time he was met with grudging nods.

"Good. Ed," he glanced at his Team Lead, "you okay to take midnight to eight in the morning?" When Ed nodded, Greg turned to Wordy. "Can you do eight to sometime in the afternoon and then we'll go from there?"

"Of course," Wordy assented softly.

"Good. Go home, everyone. We did good today. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but we did. This was a physically, emotionally and mentally exhausting call, and it came at very high personal cost. But you all handled it professionally and exceptionally, and you got every single hostage out safe and unharmed. And we got Sam out, too. Remember that." With that, he walked through the doorway.

Libby immediately went after him, followed right behind by Ed. They trailed the nurse, Robin, until they reached a curtain. She stopped and told them, "I can give you five minutes," before leaving, letting them decide how to pull back the thin piece of fabric that was the only thing between them and their friend.

It was Libby who moved first, ducking around the corner of the curtain and vanishing from Ed's sight. He followed her with shuffling footsteps, finally catching sight of Sam for the first time in hours. He couldn't decide if he looked better or worse than the last time he'd seen him. He was no longer covered in blood and gasping for air, bleeding out beneath Ed's trembling fingers, but he looked nothing like his usual self. The hospital light didn't help; it cast a sickly shade to his already pale skin. The shadows under his eyes, the bandages on his body, the bruises peeking out from beneath the blanket and wrapping around his chest and face… the man had been through hell and these wounds were the evidence. Ed had a hard time reconciling this man with the self-assured marksman that was his teammate.

Libby was beside the bed and had taken one of Sam's hands in her own, careful of the I.V. running to it. Greg came to a stop next to Ed and was silent for several long minutes, before he murmured something Ed couldn't quite catch. "What was that?" he asked.

Greg sighed and grimaced. "I said 'I take it back.'"

Ed frowned, not following. "You take what back?"

"He had an acceptable reason for being late."

Ed's confusion cleared as he recalled his boss' angry outburst at Sam's absence that morning towards the very beginning of the call. Thinking back over the whole situation, he thought of something that made him smile. "Well, actually," he started, drawing out his words, "Sam wasn't late."

Now it was Greg's turn to frown. "How do you figure that?"

"Technically, he beat us to the call; he was the first one there. So really, if anything, he was way early." He let out a soft chuckle. "Talk about an overachiever."


	18. Chapter 17

**A.N.** Here we are again! It's a short chapter, but I hope it satisfies. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, supported, encouraged and shared their thoughts with me. You all are amazing!

.

.

.

.

* * *

All too soon, Robin returned and politely but firmly told them they had to leave. Libby's mouth set in a firm line and for a moment Ed thought she was going to argue—and he would have put money down betting she would win—but she must have changed her mind. Instead, she turned to Sam and whispered something to him before leaving.

Greg simply squeezed Sam's hand and walked away, promising to return shortly, and that left Ed. He didn't know what to say or what to do, because nothing he could think of would help and that frustrated the hell out of him. Not being able to fix things and not being able to come up with a solution, bothered him more than he'd like to admit. He finally settled for Greg's approach and swore to his friend that he'd be back soon and that Sam had better be here when he returned.

With nothing more to say, he followed his companions out into the winding corridors and back towards the entrance to the hospital. Greg split off at some point, no doubt going to make sure all of the arrangements for Sam were finalized, and it finally occurred to him that he had no idea what Libby was going to do now. He contemplated offering for her to come home with him—temporarily, of course—when he was startled out of his slow thought process by shrieks.

For a panicked moment, he thought Greg had been right and the gang had just mounted a retaliation effort, but then his eyes settled on Libby's slim figure sprinting down the hall and into the arms of a frantic couple who could only be her parents.

Understanding that the family did not need an SRU officer lurking around them during their reunion, he took a side corridor. A small part of him was disappointed that he would not get to say goodbye to Libby—he admired her strength and he found he'd grown quite fond of her, even though he'd only known her a few hours—but he knew it was for the best; she needed her family now.

He made it outside at last and managed to locate his vehicle—up until he laid eyes on it, he wasn't sure he'd be able to find it, as things had been such a blur for him when first arriving at the hospital.

He got in the driver's seat and sat for a minute with his eyes closed, breathing in and out. _It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. Sam is going to be okay,_ he told himself over and over, until a small part of him believed it.

He started the car and began to maneuver his way out of the parking lot, finally reaching the road. He was about to turn right, which would take him home, when he realized that there _was_ still something he could do. He turned left.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

At five minutes to midnight, Ed arrived back at the hospital. After his errand he had gone home, spent some much needed time with his family, then surprisingly, he had actually been able to catch a few hours of sleep. He'd thought he would be too wired, but after telling his body that he needed to rest in order to be able to be on guard duty, he fell asleep.

Coffee in hand, he found his way to Sam's room. There were two officers outside who checked his ID before letting him inside, where he found Greg sitting in a chair by Sam's bed, staring at the still, blond figure. He looked up when Ed entered and gave his Team Lead a tired smile. "Hey Eddie," he murmured softly.

"Hey, how's he doing?" Ed asked, voice equally as low.

Greg looked back at the young man and sighed. "The same. Dr. Angela says it's too soon for anything to have changed, but I was hoping…"

He didn't have to finish his statement; Ed knew what he was thinking. He'd been hoping that Sam would once again exceed all expectations. Ed knew it was a fruitless hope, but he didn't judge Greg for clinging to it because he himself had been holding on to that as well.

"Okay," Ed said quietly, "you're turn to go home. There's nothing more you can do now, but there will be plenty more for you to do later."

Greg nodded dejectedly and rose, clapping Ed on the shoulder.

He was almost at the door when Ed added, "He's going to be okay. He's going to make it."

Without turning around Greg replied, "I hope you're right, Ed. I hope you're right," then left.

Ed turned back to Sam. "You hear that Braddock? You're going to be okay. Don't make a liar out of me." _Please._

He sat in Greg's now vacant chair and stared at his friend, whose condition hadn't changed much from when Ed saw him earlier. He was still pale and bruised, had a chest tube and ventilator, and an untold assortment of other medical lines and wires attached to his body. It was hard to take in.

Leaning forward, Ed sighed. "You look like crap, Braddock, but you should see the other guys. You gave them one hell of a time!" _And they didn't go easy on you…_ "I've heard they are referring to you as a 'ghost' and an 'unholy demon that just wouldn't give up.'" _Don't you dare give up and become a ghost on me now._ "You had eight grown men scrambling around practically terrified." _I was a little scared myself._ "You blew their operation sky high. Pretty impressive, kid." He paused at that statement, letting the full weight of it sink in. "Let me rephrase that. You were _damn_ impressive, Sam. I mean, man. You took out eight men of not inconsequential skill and rescued the hostages practically single handedly. Not to mention you saved Libby." Ed smiled thinking of the obvious connection that had formed between Sam and the twelve-year-old. "Now, I'll take some of the credit, of course, but you deserve most of it." _You deserve better than this. Better than lying in a hospital bed with multiple gunshot wounds, unable to breathe on your own._ "And yeah, I know it's not fair of me to be telling you all of this when you probably can't hear me, so I promise to repeat it to you when you're awake." _You better wake up._

Ed pulled an item out of his jacket and placed it on the bedside table: it was Sam's phone—fully charged but off. "However, you are also going to get a proper ear full about not having your phone on you. Hear me now: you are never allowed not to have your phone on you ever again. Hear me? And while we're on the subject of promises, don't think I didn't notice you deliberately finding the loophole in my promise and exploiting it. When I said I'd see you after you kicked their asses, I did _not_ mean like that." _God, not like that._ "And you _know_ that's not what I meant. So prepare yourself."

He sat back, satisfied that he'd said all he could at this point, until he remembered his earlier errand. "Oh, and I thought you'd like to know that your bike is safely stored in my garage until you are ready to come pick it up." _You will come to get it. You will._ He put his hand on top of Sam's and murmured, "I'm proud of you, Samo. Know that."


	19. Chapter 18

**A.N.** We're getting close to the end now! Just a few chapters left!

 **Update 5/23/2017:** Due to the impending sequel (should be posted within a few weeks), please note that Libby's parents' names have been changed to Alex and David.

.

.

.

.

* * *

Several days passed. The team continued their rotation of protection detail and Sam continued to remain in the realm of unconsciousness—or sleep, depending on how one wanted to look at it. Dr. Angela kept everyone updated and assured them that he was improving slowly now that he'd made it through the first critical twenty-four hours, but she didn't expect him to be awake for some time. This eased the team's minds slightly, but everyone would feel better when he was conscious.

SIU was also being very understanding. Sam had technically been on duty when forced to take lethal action, which would usually mean he would be kept sequestered, away from the team. SIU had decided that they would not enforce this until Sam was awake and out of the woods, for which the team was incredibly grateful.

One thing that bothered Ed was that, after seeing Libby reunited with her parents, she hadn't been back to the hospital and Ed hadn't seen her. He knew she and Sam had connected deeply and he was surprised that she hadn't come back. He'd tried calling her home phone but—not surprisingly—the number had been disconnected. He didn't have a number for Wade or Burcell, so he'd resorted to getting in touch with all of his contacts in the police force in an effort to reach one of them. He'd never actually connected with the two officers, but he'd finally convinced someone to let him know that Libby was, in fact, safe and hadn't come under any new threats. That's all they would tell him.

So Team One was once again forced to watch and wait and hope that things would soon change for the better.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Haze swirled in his mind and fog murmured, telling him to forget and go back to dreaming, but his mind was done with sleep. His body, on the other hand, was not. He was floating. Still swathed in dreams his eyelids fluttered under the weight of disuse and black faded to blurred images. Nothing made sense, muted light and shadows slowly shifted, and sounds reached him through an incredibly long, echoing tunnel. Was someone speaking? The answer was yes. He really wanted to know who was here with him and what was going on, if only he could turn his head to the left to see who it was. His body would not obey. It was still cocooned in cotton, his muscles relaxed and tired.

A hand suddenly wrapped around his as a figure came into view. He couldn't quite focus on the face, but he finally knew who it was. His ears had cleared and he could hear Spike talking to him softly, telling him he was so glad Sam was awake and that he couldn't wait for Sam to hear Spike's version of events that went into great detail of Sam's heroics. He continued to chatter away, assuring Sam that everyone was okay: the team, the employees, the customers, and Libby.

Sam smiled and gently squeezed Spike's hand, thankful that his friend was here. Spike squeezed back and there was a pause in his chatter, before he continued on. With Spike there to anchor him, Sam let his mind relax and continue to float, because even though he wanted it to be, it wasn't quite yet ready to fully engage. He blinked slowly, the length of time his eyes closed gradually increased, until finally he let go and let the blackness wrap him in its arms. He trusted Spike completely; he would keep Sam safe.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

The following morning, Wordy was sitting by the bed which held a sleeping Sam. He knew Sam had been awake for a few moments the night before but hadn't spoken, nor had he been awake again. Since then, he'd been improving significantly, so much so that Dr. Angela had switched him from an oxygen mask to a nasal cannula.

Wordy was sitting sipping coffee and reading the paper when the door to Sam's room opened. Wordy rose to his feet immediately, knowing the visitors must have cleared with the officers posted outside the door, but wanting to do his job and make sure himself, just in case. He stepped forward but immediately stopped when his eyes landed on the person—or rather, people—that had walked through the door.

Libby looked up at him, uncharacteristically shy. Behind her stood two people who could only be her parents, one of whom was holding a young boy. "Hi," Libby murmured quietly. "I'm sorry, I never got your full name, but I heard Ed call you Wordy?"

He smiled back at her, relieved to see that she was okay and immensely glad that she was finally here. He knew what it was like to go through a traumatic experience with someone—how that someone became your lifeline and most trusted person in that moment—and how important it could be to connect with that person after the event, once normalcy had returned. He knew this was important not only for her, but for Sam as well. He only wondered why it had taken her so long to come… "Hi, I am indeed Wordy, or you could call me Kevin. Whichever you prefer. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting your parents."

Libby motioned her parents forward as she introduced them. "Mom, Dad, this is one of Sam's teammates, Wordy. Wordy, this is Alex and David."

David juggled the young boy in his arms so that he could extend one in order to shake the hand of one of the people who'd saved his daughter's life. The man's grip was firm and his eyes kind when their gazes met. Alex, on the other hand, approached Wordy with open arms and, when he did not back away, embraced him. Then, she pulled back and placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing firmly. "Thank you. _Thank you_ for bringing my daughter safely home and for keeping her safe." Moisture gathered in her eyes.

Wordy smiled softly, immensely happy that they'd been able to have a happy ending, and placed his right hand over hers. "Ma'am, I am glad that Libby is safe, but I am not the one that deserves your thanks. The man who does is behind me and currently sleeping, but just as soon as he's awake, you can thank him yourself."

She nodded. "I plan on thanking Constable Braddock just as soon as I can and to begin trying to repay the debt I owe him, but I know that you did not just sit by idly. I know that you actively worked to rescue my daughter and resolve the situation, and for that I am grateful." She squeezed his shoulders once more before letting go and stepping back.

"How is Constable Braddock?" David inquired, concern evident in his voice.

Unwilling to burden the family with the details of Sam's condition, Wordy decided on the big picture. "He was pretty bad at first, but he's getting better. He woke up for the first time last night, but only briefly."

They stood in silence for a moment before Wordy realized he should give them the room. "Hey, I've just about run out of coffee so I'm going to go re-supply. You guys are more than welcome to stay while I'm gone." While he couldn't leave his post, he could at least remain outside in order to give the family—and, more importantly, Libby—some much needed privacy. Before he left, though, he stopped in front of Libby and reached his hand towards hers. She responded in kind and solemnly shook his, raising her eyebrows to show her confusion. Wordy would never be able to convey to her the depth of his gratitude to, and admiration of, her; she had kept a level head in a hellish situation and had protected his friend. Perhaps not in the same way that Sam had protected her, but Wordy knew he owed her all the same. He settled for simple and heartfelt. "Thank you."

She met his eyes evenly and understanding sparked in her gaze, before she blushed furiously and looked down at her feet, shaking her head vehemently. "There's nothing to thank me for, Sir." In her moment of being flustered, she fell back on her usual way of addressing adults, which immediately made her smile as she thought of Sam's response to that.

"Yes, actually," Wordy replied quietly, causing her to look up once again, "there's quite a lot for which to thank you." He gave her small hand a firm squeeze to convey his gratitude and respect, before politely excusing himself and exiting the room.

A few minutes later found him sitting in a chair across from Sam's door, steaming brown liquid claiming to be coffee in a large white cup in his hand.

Shortly after, Libby's parents and sleeping brother emerged from the room. Seeing Wordy, David smiled and explained, "We wanted to give her some time to herself. She doesn't need us there right now and, as hard as it is for us to let her out of our sight, we know she needs this. We're going to the lounge just down the hall… Please keep an eye on her for us?"

"Of course," Wordy assented.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Inside the room, Libby stared at Sam and had difficulty absorbing what she saw: her strong protector lying motionless on a hospital bed. Sucking in a deep breath, she refused to cry and instead stepped forward to take his hand. Squeezing it gently, she spoke firmly, "All right Sam, listen up. I would have come much sooner but I had to fight tooth and nail in order to see you at all, and I only just now won the fight. Nobody wanted me to leave the safe house they've stuffed me in. I finally forced Wade and Burcell to allow me to come see you, but only because I refused to testify if they didn't. They are now waiting down the hall and will be coming through that door to forcibly remove me from the premises if necessary in a little under two hours, at which time they will whisk me away to an undisclosed location, to a new life where I won't be allowed to contact anyone from my past." She took a deep breath, searching for any kind of response from the blonde man. Seeing none, she frowned.

"Hey, are you hearing me? If you don't get those pretty eyes open in the next two hours in order to see my elfin face, who knows when… well…" her voice trailed off, her mind unwilling to finish that thought. Sighing, she reached down to the small bag she'd brought with her and pulled out two items. One, a simple white envelope, she set on the bedside table. The other she clasped in her hands.

"I lied." She looked down at the wrinkled, bloodstained piece of paper clutched in her grip. "I didn't wait for you to read it. And let me tell you, it's not fair of you to leave me hanging like this. 'Libby,'" she read from the back of the survey in hasty writing, just above her equally hastily scrawled map, "'you performed above and beyond the call of customer service. Thank you for being a truly amazing human being. We're going to be okay.'" She looked up at him now, eyes beseeching him to wake up. "Do you hear that? Your own words? You said we're going to be okay! That does not mean you bleeding out in front of me in the middle of the store or lying in a hospital bed for days without waking up!" she admonished vehemently. "Being the big sacrificial hero may have sounded good to you at the time, but the aftermath kind of sucks!"

The fire left her as quickly as it had come. Her voice softened. "What am I saying… I know that's not why you did it." She smiled at him sadly. "I know you didn't do it for the glory; you did it because it's what you do and because you wanted to protect me and all of the other hostages. And that… well, that makes _you_ amazing." With still no response from Sam, she resigned herself to enjoying two hours of his silent company, hoping and praying he would wake up in that time.

She carefully settled herself on the edge of his bed, avoiding the lines and machines, then took his hand in hers again and turned on the TV. After five minutes of channel surfing, she stumbled upon the movie about an orange fish with white stripes searching for his son, aided by a blue fish with short-term memory loss. "No way," she muttered, astounded by the coincidence. With nothing else to do, she began watching the movie, which had only begun a little while ago; she hadn't missed much and she knew the entire movie by heart anyway.

A while later she was well into the movie and the line she and Sam had quoted was fast approaching, but the moment before it was voiced, she turned the TV off.

A muffled protest sounded from behind her: "Hey, that's the best part."


	20. Chapter 19

**A.N.** Well once again I've kept you waiting way longer than I intended. Apologies again. This is the last time, however, as there is only an epilogue left and that will be up in the next few weeks for sure. I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you again for your encouraging words and patience.

To those of you who asked, the movie I keep quoting/referencing/coming back to is Finding Nemo, and the exchange between Dory and Marlin about Marlin promising Nemo he's never let anything happen to him, and Dory saying that's a funny thing to promise as it's not much fun for little Harpo. Sam therefore amended the statement to that he wouldn't let anything _bad_ happen to Libby.

.

.

.

.

* * *

Libby sprang out of the bed and whipped around to stare at the young SRU officer, whose eyes blinked sleepily at her, a lazy smile on his face.

"Sam!" she cried. "You're awake! Don't – I mean, you scared – oh my – you're awake!" she stammered incoherently, too filled with exuberance to form a proper sentence. She leaned forward and hugged him—gently, still careful of the lines and his still healing body. She felt his arms encircle her and, for just one small moment, she felt perfectly safe and content. Then her brain caught up with her and she pulled away frantically. "Wait! What do I do? A doctor. We need a doctor! Right? I mean what do people usually do in this situation? They must get a doctor! DOCTOR!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, unaware of the convenient call button located by Sam's bed and all too focused on his immediate well-being.

"Shhh—" Sam started to say, reaching for the familiar call button, but he was cut off by the door banging open under Wordy's strong shove.

Alerted by Libby's shout, he expected the worst. What he did not expect was Sam staring at him quite calmly and asking him to please reassure and quiet the frazzled Libby.

Too astonished to do anything but stare for a moment, he was quickly moved aside as an entire medical team flooded the room and firmly ushered both him and Libby outside. The door closed in their faces, a nurse politely telling them they needed to wait until the doctor was finished before they could come back inside.

Libby sat in the chair Wordy had occupied moments before and stared resolutely at the door, arms folded. He knew she wouldn't move an inch until that door opened.

Realizing the rest of the team needed to know Sam was awake again, he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed. These were phone calls he was happy to make: good news was easy to share and felt good to spread. Each team member responded in various ways—quiet exhalations, relief, ecstatic shouts (Spike)—but each vowed to be at the hospital within ten minutes—most were already on their way when he'd called.

Mission accomplished, he hung up the phone just as the door opened and the team of nurses and doctors left. Dr. Angela paused and gave Wordy a smile. "He's doing very well. He's still exhausted and probably won't be awake for long, but he remembers what happened and knows what's going on. All that's left is to give his body time to heal."

"Thank you. You have no idea how good it is to hear that."

"Oh, I think I have an idea." She nodded to both him and Libby before disappearing down the hall, promising to return later that day.

Then it was just the two of them left standing in front of Sam's door—the two guards had moved a little down the hall in order to give the illusion of privacy—and neither knew exactly what to do next. Both wanted to go see Sam immediately, but Wordy had seen Libby checking her watch every thirty seconds and it wasn't hard for him to deduce that she had a time limit on her visit. The last thing he wanted to do was wait a minute longer to see his friend awake, but he could put his own wants aside for a minute in order to help Libby. "Hey," he called to get her attention. "The rest of the team is on their way and will be here any minute. I'm going to wait for them out here if you want to go in and say hello."

She met his eyes in shock. "You don't want to?"

He chuckled. "Oh I want to, believe me, but I've got time." He nodded to her watch. "Seems to me like you might have a little less of it than I do."

She followed his gaze to her wrist and grimaced. "Much less." She muttered something that sounded oddly like "stupid Wade and his 'deal,'" but he couldn't be sure. More loudly she murmured "thank you," before disappearing into the room.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

When she reentered the room, she saw Sam's eyes were closed and her heart sank, thinking he'd fallen back asleep already. A mumbled "hey" from the bed made her heart soar, though. His eyes cracked open and he gave her a smile. Even though she knew he was hurting and lying in a hospital bed, that smile made her incredibly happy. He cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"

She hiccupped a laugh and made it the rest of the way to the side of his bed. "Still looking out for me, huh?" She smiled a watery smile as a few tears of relief slipped down her face. "I'm fine, thanks to you. Not a scratch on me."

He reached his hand up to her face and wiped the few tears from her cheeks. "Shhhh, I'm fine too." He looked down at his bandaged chest and smiled wryly. "Can't say there's not a scratch on me, but I'll be okay."

She had to force from her mind the image of his comforting outstretched hand covered in blood, his current gesture mimicking the one from in the store days earlier when she'd come to him. "Yeah, you'd better be, or there will be consequences. We haven't discussed how you don't want to get on my bad side, but trust me when I say you don't."

"Duly noted. I trust you."

She swallowed a lump in her throat, suddenly glancing at her watch in order to break away from his gaze and sighing when she saw the time. "Listen, I don't have much time. I don't know how much you heard of what I said earlier…" at his blank look she surmised he'd heard nothing. "Well, then don't worry about it, I planned for the worst—meaning you wouldn't be awake—and wrote it all down in that card." She pointed to the nightstand. "Suffice to say any minute your friends are going to get here and I am going to be removed from this room and taken to an undisclosed location until the trial is over. This," she reached down into her bag and pulled out a thin box wrapped in horse printed wrapping paper, "is for you."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

She smiled self-consciously. "Read the card; it'll explain." She paused for a breath before saying, "Thank you, Sam. Not just for saving my life, but for being there, for treating me as an equal and—as crazy as it sounds—for making me feel safe for the first time in I don't know how long. I can confidently say that I wouldn't be here without you and I don't think there's anything I can ever do to thank you enough for what you've given me."

Sam immediately started shaking his head and opened his mouth to interrupt, but Libby held up her finger.

"Ah ah ah, I'm not finished. Yeah of course you'll say there's no need for thanks because you're the perfect hero, but there is. And I'm thankful." She stopped there and waited for his response.

He remained silent.

"Sam?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh, are you finished?" he replied with a grin.

Sheepishly, she nodded.

"Okay then." He reached out his arm to her and gently grasped her shoulder, pulling her towards him. When she was close enough, he reached up to the back of her head and pulled her down to his chest, giving her the best one-armed hug he could muster.

She resisted for a moment, afraid of hurting him, before relenting and relaxing into it.

"There's still no need for thanks," he murmured in her ear.

She sighed with a mixture of happiness and sadness. Happy that she'd gotten to talk with him one more time, sad that she now had to say farewell. "I have to go, but I don't want to say goodbye," she admitted quietly.

"Then don't. Don't look at this as a goodbye. Think of it as just a temporary parting of ways."

She wished it could be true. The moment she straightened, the door flew open for the second time that morning and the team streamed in.

"Sam! You're awake!"

"How are you?"

"Boy oh boy am I glad to see you!"

Their various greetings and obvious enthusiasm at seeing their very good friend awake brought smiles to Libby's and Sam's faces.

"Hey guys, long time no see."

A nurse followed them in and the person that followed her immediately wiped the smile from Libby's face: Burcell. He gave her an apologetic look but nodded firmly towards the door. She nodded reluctantly but held her hand up, asking for one more minute. He assented.

She turned back to Sam in order to say goodbye, but the nurse was already talking to him.

"Good morning Mr. Marlin, how are you doing today?"

He glanced sideways in confusion at Ed, who gave him a meaningful look. _Play along_. "Uh," Sam started, "all things considered, I'm doing okay."

"That's great to hear! Is there anything I can do for you?" He shook his head no. "Well you let me know if that changes. I'm right down the hall and that little button will bring me running the minute you press it, ok?"

"Yes ma'am," Sam agreed.

"Well all right then." With a pat of the bed, she exited the room.

The team crowded around Sam, chattering and laughing, and Libby realized she didn't have to say goodbye. Her moment was gone and that was okay. She met eyes with Sam briefly and held them, trying to convey with that single gaze everything she felt in her heart: her gratitude, her admiration and her vow of everlasting friendship. He returned her gaze with one of equal sincerity, nodding to her as the love and friendship of his team surrounded him. Blinking back tears, she turned and followed Burcell out of the room, hoping with all her heart that she would see the kind, strong SRU officer again. Just as she let go of the door to let it close behind her, she heard one final exchange between Sam and Ed.

"So why am I named Marlin?" Sam queried.

"You need to remain anonymous for now. That name was Libby's idea, I still can't figure out where she got it from…" A pause. "Oh! Of course!" Ed exclaimed. "It's that movie, the one with the clown fish. Why'd she name you after a fish?"

Sam's reply drifted out to her as the door closed.

"I guess… because I found her and didn't let anything bad happen to her."

The door clicked shut. "You sure did, Sam," she whispered. "You kept me safe."


	21. Epilogue

**A.N.** Wow, here it is! The final chapter! I can't believe it's finally done. Thank you for all of your feedback and encouragement, it has truly been amazing. I did my best to tie up all of the loose ends and leave things in a good place, and I hope you like this last little epilogue. It's been an adventure! Until next time... enjoy!

 **Update 5/23/2017:** By popular request, sequel coming soon! Look for it within a week or two! Title – _To the Power of Two._

.

.

.

.

* * *

Predictably, life slowly began to settle down after the events at The Oakes—or, as settled as Team One's lives ever got while being sent out to hot call after hot call. Team One accepted a temporary replacement for Sam—a Constable Jack River—and, while they were friendly and worked well together, it went without saying that River would not be with them long, as their recovering teammate would return. River had no problem with this and took no offense. He was honored to have the chance to work with the best and would never dream of being the cause for Team One's separation; the team and their loyalty to each other was legendary. River had had the chance to work with them once before, when Team One and Team Four worked on a hot call jointly, and had seen their seamless flow, camaraderie and communication first hand. While he hadn't gotten much chance to interact with Braddock—as the man had been Sierra One on the call—he'd seen the man's skills when scorpio had had to be called and heard the stories of what he'd done in the recent hostage situation. River had nothing but respect for the man and wished him quick healing. For now, though, he promised to watch Braddock's team's back while the sniper recovered.

A month after Sam woke up, a long overdue birthday party was held at the Wordsworth's household. Wordy's daughter had insisted on waiting until Sam was well enough to join them. When Wordy picked up Sam from the hospital in order to take him to the party, he told the man not to worry about a birthday gift, but Sam assured Wordy that he had it covered. When the gifts came out after much laughter, cake and ice cream, Sam handed Wordy's daughter a thin box decorated in horse wrapping paper. Inside were paints, a blank sketchbook, an instruction manual with very eye-catching designs, and a more advanced design book which focused on horses. When Wordy asked Sam when he'd had time to get the gifts—knowing full well Sam hadn't been allowed to leave the hospital before today—Sam only grinned and said a good friend had given them to him in thanks, which Wordy found rather odd… But he let it go.

Soon after that, Sam began the long road back to Team One through physical therapy and eventually conditioning. He thought of Libby often and wondered how she was doing. The trial was set for a month from then and he hadn't heard from her—she was in witness protection after all, with strict orders not to contact anyone from her old life. He wished he could see and talk with her again, but knew that he probably never would. After the trial, regardless of the outcome, she would have to remain in witness protection because it was likely that Bruce Evans would never stop going after her, even if he was behind bars.

Sam kept the note she'd given to him pinned to his refrigerator; she was a reminder of the good in the world and her words never failed to bring a smile to his face—and also because she had demanded that he put the note somewhere obvious and he wasn't about to risk getting on her bad side. It was a handmade card, the front of which read:

Sam Braddock

Hero

Inside, there was a lengthy note:

 _Dear Sam,_

 _You are in the hospital right now and Wade and Burcell told me that you're stable. They thought that would be enough to stop my demanding to see you, but they were wrong. I've only increased my resolve and gave them an ultimatum: they let me see you or I don't testify. They tried to call my bluff—you should have seen the smug looks on their faces, thinking I would give in—but I wasn't bluffing—the smug looks disappeared pretty quickly, replaced with bluster and frustration. It was rather hilarious. So, they finally agreed to let me come visit you for a few hours tomorrow, before whisking me away until the trial. I don't know if you'll be awake or not, so I wrote this letter just in case. I really hope you're awake… I need to thank you in person and just know that you're going to be okay._

 _Tulio won't stop talking about you and now that it's no longer possible for him to grow up to be the manager of the store, he's convinced he's going to be a police officer someday. I think I'll let him dream and wait a little while before letting him know he probably can't be a police officer if he's in witness protection… kinda defeats the purpose of keeping him out of sight of "the bad guys."_

 _The trial's been moved back a couple of months, which frankly just makes me anxious and mad. I just want to get this thing over with and put that monster away. I guess it'll be over eventually, but patience has never been my strong suit._

 _Oh, since your birthday shopping was so rudely and abruptly interrupted by stupid gunmen and you dropped everything to come back for me—don't think I didn't notice—the least I can do is give your items back to you. They're on the house, gift wrapped free of charge (I did it myself. It's beautiful, isn't it?). I hope you get a chance to give them to your friend's daughter, otherwise I expect you to keep them for yourself. You'll have lots of free time while you're recovering—you WILL recover, you hear me?—and they say painting is good for the soul, not to mention the fine motor skills it requires. I threw in a more adult geared painting book just for you and expect some masterpieces next time I see you._

 _I WILL see you again. And I'm not talking about tomorrow when I know I'll get to see you (and hope that you'll get to see me, too), that doesn't count. I'm talking about after that. Regardless of the fact that I'll be in witness protection for who knows how long, I am making the promise that I will see you. I will find a way—a safe way that doesn't compromise my new identity (I sound so spy-y saying that!)—and I will make it happen. I'm not letting Wade or Burcell read this letter, because if they did, they would have heart attacks and never let me out of their sight, so don't you let them read it either. They will not foil my plans!_

 _Now that I have made a promise to you, I need you to promise me something. I want you to put this card someplace that you will see it every single day, because it's true and you need to be reminded of it. I saw the doubt in your eyes when I said that you were now Tulio's hero and I am writing you to dispel that doubt. You absolutely are. And you are my hero. You literally saved my life at the expense of your own and constantly kept me safe. You didn't talk down to me the way most grownups do, instead you talked to me as an equal. You crossed an entire store infested with gunmen without hesitation when I asked you to save my brother (I truly do not know what I would have done if you'd refused), and made me feel safe even in the midst of chaos. You comforted me and taught me being brave is doing things in spite of fear, not being fearless, and you showed me how to put someone else before myself. So put this on your door or something, because you are a hero, dammit! Maybe if I keep telling you, one day you'll believe. (Don't tell my parents I swore. That stays between you and me!)._

 _Well, I don't want to stop writing, because that kind of feels like a goodbye, but if I don't stop now I don't think I ever will. I wish you all the best Sam. Thank you for being an amazing human being and going above and beyond the call of duty (you see what I did there?). I mean it._

 _With love and friendship,_

 _Libby_

A month into his physical therapy, the trial began. It lasted days, but Libby was brought in for as little time as possible, before she was once again whisked away. She remained composed throughout her testimony, even under the blistering cross examination. The verdict came back a resounding "guilty." Bruce Evans was going away for good.

Three months later and Sam passed re-qualifications with flying colors and record times. The day before his return to work, Ed called, asking if he could come by because he needed to talk to Sam about something. Sam was guarded when the other man arrived, unable to think of a reason Ed would want to talk… had Sam done something wrong? After chatting about how Team One had been doing and once Ed was done grumbling good-naturedly about the lack of air conditioning in Sam's apartment—it had broken a week ago and the repairmen were scheduled to come out tomorrow—Ed finally got around to the reason he'd come: to keep a promise. He told Sam he'd had a conversation with the blonde when he wasn't awake yet in the hospital, and it was about time Ed repeated what he'd said when Sam could hear. He said how proud he was at what Sam had done five months ago, taking down eight men single-handedly without a single hostage getting hurt, keeping his cool under pressure and on his own, and finding his way out of an impossible situation. Ed acknowledged they'd had a bumpy start when Sam first came to the team, but made sure Sam understood that all of Team One—Ed included—was fiercely proud to have him and that they wouldn't have it any other way.

There was definitely a lump in each of the man's throat by the end, though neither one let on, so after letting that moment sit, Ed immediately pulled out a box and handed it to Sam, saying it was a welcome back to the team gift from Ed. When Sam opened it, he looked up at the other man in amused confusion: it was duct tape. Ed took great pleasure in explaining to Sam that he was to use several feet of the tape in order to affix his cellphone to his arm or tactical suit at all times. Sam was never to be without his phone again.

The following day, Sam biked to work for the first time in months. He did not take a detour to go shopping. As he arrived in the parking lot, his phone rang with a number he didn't recognize. Assuming it was the air conditioning repairmen calling to let Sam know the job was done—Sam had had to leave before they finished—he answered briskly, "Braddock."

"Is that anyway to talk to a friend? And I told you I'd find a way," came the reply, the voice distinctly young and feminine.

Sam stopped in his tracks, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "Hey Libby."


End file.
